Agony is Your Triumph
by DirtyFox2
Summary: 2025, a young soldier fights a difficult war under John Connor's banner. He seeks death to end his heartache. But under the leadership of a stern new Lieutenant, and a meeting with a young girl, he may find humanity once more. Derek & Allison. R&R pls!
1. Livin' on the Edge

Chapter 1: Livin' on the Edge

_By 2025 much of the planet Earth was a scorched remnant of a world of beauty, life, and wonder. This was a distant memory to most, and an unknown dream to the rest. The planet had been devastated by a nuclear holocaust that killed over three billion of Earth's population. Since then, Skynet, a sentient machine whose mission is to eradicate mankind has waged an endless war against the survivors. _

_Humanity is led by one man: John Connor. A man driven to succeed against the greatest odds. He has rallied the remnants of mankind to form a Resistance capable of organized attacks against Skynet. Thousands have flocked to his banner, and he enjoys the intense loyalty of these soldiers, who willingly die under his command._

_But there are some who have become disenchanted with survival. Those who have lost everything, those whose heart and soul have been broken. Some of these men and women wander from battle to battle seeking death, so that they may be alleviated of the melancholy existence they now drift through; having lost all they held dear. _

_This is the story of one such man…_

"Bravo-1-Actual, this is Bravo-1-Alpha, I've got good eyes on the objective. It's about fifty meters to my direct front, how copy?" a young soldier who wore the rank of Corporal reported over a small headset he wore.

"Copy, 1-Alpha. Enemy strength?" a voice crackled in response.

"Uh, I'd say about a dozen or so inactive T-600s, over," the Corporal responded. He knelt behind the burned out hulk of a bus, peering eagerly around the corner at his target; the central hub of a machine's manufacturing facility. His mission was quite simple, perform reconnaissance of the target, and if possible, destroy it.

He waited for a response, but none came. Silence fell over the gloomy landscape. The charred Earth blended almost seamlessly with the gray hue of the skies around him. He gave a quick and casual glance behind him, the other soldier from his squad knelt uneasily there. He was a young man of about the same age, Hispanic descent. The Corporal could tell the man was nervous about their exposed position, hell, even he eagerly anticipated a reply from his Lieutenant.

"Bravo-1-Alpha, this is Actual, mission is scrubbed. I say again, mission is scrubbed. Objective is too hot, displace and regroup with the rest of the team at the designated rally point, copy?" His Lieutenant's voice broke the silence, but his response was not the one that the Corporal wanted to hear. His face contorted with disappointment, and after a moment of thought he keyed his microphone to reply.

"Say again, you're coming in broken and unreadable," he murmured lowly. His Hispanic counterpart strained to hear what he was saying. He turned down the volume on his ear piece and glanced back at his fellow soldier. The Lieutenant was repeating his orders over the radio, but the Corporal ignored them.

"Ramos, we're good to go," the Corporal told him, offering a thumbs up. Ramos narrowed his eyes, disbelieving, but the Corporal got up and quickly moved around the corner of the bus. The Hispanic resistance fighter pulled a cross from beneath his uniform, quickly kissed it and then followed in trace of the Corporal; a new guy whom he hardly felt secure around.

The two of them advanced hastily, yet in a quiet enough manner not to disrupt the machines which stood inactive, storing power for when it would be necessary. Both men's weapons were held at the ready, pressed into their shoulders with their eyes over the sights scanning the dozen or so viable targets presented before them.

The skeletal figures were disheartening, downright terrifying in fact. But the Corporal paid them no mind, and hurried beyond them.

Ramos was more hesitant, he nervously glanced from figure to figure. The machine's eyes were dull, and unlit, but Ramos half expected them to be aglow with the fiery red color of the devil. He swallowed hard hoping that it would not happen.

The two crept up to the target, a large computer terminal which hummed loudly from the power that surged through it. This location used to be a place where vacuum cleaners were built, and though it was bombed out and decrepit, enough of the machinery remained for Skynet to convert it into a metal manufacturing plant. It was here they churned out mostly T-1s, and at times T-600s. The Corporal took a knee beside the console and glanced around, ensuring that nothing had seen their approach.

Skynet had been pushing aggressively against the Resistance in this area, and Connor had ordered out an assortment of different unit types to attempt to gain some breathing room for his rebellious band of warriors. To this end, deep recon, sabotage, raids, and anything else they could carry out to the detriment of Skynet was taking place.

The Corporal knew this facility wasn't worth much, and that the pair of them only had enough explosives to destroy the terminal itself, and not the production equipment. Additionally, Skynet would have this terminal rebuilt in a few months, but the Corporal didn't care about any of that. It was an opportunity to take the fight to that which he hated most; the machines. He wasn't content with silent observation and reporting, and now he was going to scorch some of the bastards and send them to whatever hell awaited a wrecked heap of metal.

He began planting the demo charges, a mixture of semtex and home made explosives, all around the terminal. Ramos did the same, if not somewhat more shakily.

Once he had completed this he glanced over at Ramos. The young trooper signaled he was finished as well. The Corporal armed the timers on the explosives, and set the time itself for a little over thirty seconds. Ramos' eyes were wide with surprise, but he didn't have time to argue this as the timers were activated and the Corporal hastily pressed past him en-route back to their original position. Ramos followed suit.

They sprinted past the group of T-600s, taking less care in not disturbing the menacing endoskeletons. Ramos nervously glanced back at the terminal, picturing it exploding and engulfing him in flames. He was jarred from this thought, however, as he slammed into one of the inactive skeletons. He fell to the ground, and the Corporal halted in his tracks to look back and see what had happened.

"Get up!" he snarled. Ramos stumbled to his feet just as the red eyes illuminated in the skull of the endoskeleton behind him. Simultaneously all of the T-600s came to life as the two soldiers sprinted now for their very lives.

Plasma fire erupted, and bolts of the super hot matter shot past them, striking up sand and melting through scrap metal littered all around them. Then the explosives detonated, and a fiery ball of orange and red flame erupted from the terminal engulfing some of their pursuers. The two could feel the shockwave from the blast, and the sound of it left their ears ringing. But they pressed on, they'd need to reach cover to avoid a grisly death at the hands of the monsters chasing them.

A plasma bolt slammed into the Corporal's shoulder, incinerating the olive drab jacket he wore and burning deep into his flesh. He cried out and stumbled forward, falling to his knees momentarily before Ramos dragged him to his feet and helped him along. He threw the wounded Corporal's arm over his shoulder and the two limped on, under increasingly heavy and accurate fire.

Another explosion was felt, this time the concussion was enough to knock them down. It had been a fragmentation grenade thrown by one of the machines. The blast peppered them both with shrapnel, and knocked the Corporal unconscious. Ramos turned and fired several shots back at the T-600s. One round managed to find a target, but with little effect.

He struggled to drag the Corporal behind the bus they had been posted at earlier. He quickly peaked around the corner and fired off more shots at the enemy. Several more well placed blasts found their mark on his previous victim, the combined damage was enough to slow it down and cause it some set backs, but it still advanced along with the others. Ramos cursed under his breath, then he struggled to pick up the Corporal, throw him over his back and carry him away from the engagement fireman style.

He didn't make it far, however. He was significantly slower, and the machines gained a clear line of sight on him and fired repeatedly, striking him several times, and the Corporal once more. He fell forward, dropping the Corporal. He could feel a searing pain in his back, then he went numb, his eyes closed, and life escaped his body. The T-600s continued to advance, they would ensure both were dead, or capture a survivor if they could.

From another direction more fire erupted, but these plasma rounds were directed at the menacing endoskeletons. Enough rounds found two targets to fell them, and the others turned to engage this new threat. As they moved off, firing at the flanking element that had attacked them, two other soldiers crept up to the fallen Resistance fighters who lay motionless. They cursed out loud at the sight of the two fallen troopers, but seemed to be particularly more troubled by the condition of Ramos.

"He's dead," one said in a gloomy tone, shaking his head at the other.

"We take him with us," the other replied, looking down at the injured and unconscious Corporal. Part of him wanted to leave the young soldier. How could he disobey an order from a senior officer? Who did this guy think he was? Maybe the rumors about him were true… he'd already cost this Lieutenant one good man.

They hefted the two men up on their shoulders and moved off behind cover, escaping into the endless maze of ruins that was once the city of Los Angeles. Shortly after, the fire from the flanking element ceased. Those men broke contact, and escaped before the T-600s could put adequate fire down upon them.

Blurry vision soon cleared to reveal an attractive young girl with large, soothing brown eyes that matched her somewhat bedraggled hair perfectly. She sat beside a wounded and confused Corporal who squinted until perfect vision returned to him.

"Welcome back," she said in a sweet tone. "You're very lucky to be alive."

"Yeah, lucky," the wounded soldier said back. He was obviously back in Kansas bunker. How had that happened?

"I'm sorry about your friend," the girl said earnestly. She glanced away for a moment, sadness filling her doe like eyes. "He didn't make it."

The soldier winced for a moment, he could feel the searing pain in his shoulder, and a deep sting along his left arm and side. "Not my friend," he said simply.

The girl was somewhat surprised by the blunt reply. What did he mean by that? She decided not to probe any further. Her eyes examined the man's figure, he was lean but muscular. He had been stripped to the waist in order for her to treat his wounds, and she could tell they were not his first. He'd sustained a significant amount of what appeared to be shrapnel to the right side of his body. A scar also ran down along his right cheek.

He seemed to attempt to portray a gruff and mean exterior. She didn't think he could be any older than twenty five, but he tried to look older with an attempt at a scruffy beard. His brown eyes betrayed a youth, however, that tipped her off as she tried to estimate how old he was. He kept his hair trimmed tightly along the sides, and the top was a brown mop by comparison. A typical military hair cut, if not a bit out of keeping, she thought. She dipped a cotton ball in some alcohol.

"I have to clean your wounds," she told him. He sat up, wincing from the pain as he did. He made no attempt to stop her. "It's not going to feel good," she added. She pressed the cotton ball onto the bloody and burned flesh that had once been unscarred space upon his body. By the look of things he was rapidly running out of that kind of real estate on his figure.

"You're not a very good nurse," he told her, grimacing from the pain.

"I'm not a nurse at all,' She replied, cracking a small smile.

"Soldier? What outfit?" he asked interestedly. She dabbed more of the alcohol soaked cotton balls onto his shoulder wound and he flinched from the sting.

"No, not a soldier. I… I help out," she informed him. She didn't feel like getting into the specifics of what she did. Questions would invariably follow, as they always did, and her superiors had told her to be tight lipped about her occupational specialty, even though she was still just learning the trade itself.

"I see. Well, I'm Corporal Logan Ramsey," he offered. His face was blank of expression, and though his voice indicated interest his demeanor seemed to suggest otherwise. She found that to be peculiar. His voice was engaging, but his body language seemed to show something else. He sat languidly, adjusting himself to be more comfortable while she cleaned his injuries.

"I'm Allison. Allison Young," she told him. She looked over him again once more, his grimy face might've hid an attractive young man, but a man no doubt several years her elder.

Before they could continue another soldier entered the room. He was of Japanese descent, and Allison had seen him earlier when he brought the unconscious young Corporal in.

"Ramsey, Lieutenant Reese wants to see you right now," he told the young Corporal. His voice was stern, and there seemed to be a clear distaste for the soldier he now addressed. The man didn't make any attempt to hide it either.

"Fine," he replied after a moment. The Japanese soldier left the room, and Corporal Logan Ramsey struggled to put his gray undershirt back on. With some assistance from his makeshift nurse he managed it; then he left the room without giving her a backward glance, and she wondered what transpired to put this man momentarily under her poorly trained care.


	2. Slow Burn

Chapter 2: Slow Burn

"He's a God damned liability, sir. I'm not taking him out again!" a gruff and dirtied Resistance Lieutenant growled. The man was in his thirties, wore ragged clothing common to most of the soldiers in the 132nd. He hadn't shaved in a few days, and he argued fiercely with his commanding officer, an African-American man wearing camouflage utilities.

"Lieutenant Reese, decisions like that are not for you to make," the man responded in a calm, even toned voice that resonated with a command presence. He wore two stars on the lapels of his utilities jacket. His name tape read Perry, and he was the commanding officer of the 132nd SOC.

"Ramos is dead because of him, that doesn't mean anything to you?" Reese snapped back, his haughty nature getting the best of him.

The Major General sat calmly behind his rickety and worn desk. The two were having their meeting in the 'office' that Perry used, situated nearby the combat operations center, or the COC, as they called it. It was where they planned, briefed, and oversaw the missions that were run from the Kansas bunker location. The office itself was a place of disrepair, much like the rest of the bunker complex. It was drab, and not much had been afforded to improve the overall quality of the surroundings. Perry was a stoic man who lived a Spartan lifestyle, and would never dare enjoy amenities that the grunts under his charge did not.

"Corporal Ramsey has potential," the General spoke, his voice without emotion, a sharp contrast to the frustrated Lieutenant he now attempted to calm. "You have the command ability to bring him back from the edge."

Lieutenant Derek Reese scoffed at the comment. "Back from the edge, sir?" he questioned incredulously.

"Your brother," the General offered, raising a brow. Derek's eyes were drawn away. Perry was referring to his younger brother, a man who had suffered a great deal at the hands of the machines when he was interred in Century work camp. Derek lost him when he was just a boy, but after his escape he was a young man-- an angry, lonely young man who lashed out and acted in irresponsible ways. Derek, and a tight knit group of supporting troopers brought Kyle back to his senses, reminded him of his humanity, and the freedom he now enjoyed. It was a harsh life in the camps. A life most men's psyche was ravaged by, if they were in fact lucky to survive the horrors themselves.

"My brother is a different story. He's family," Lt. Reese replied bluntly.

"Not so. He's a soldier, and you treated him as such. Is it any wonder to you why we maintain a rank structure? Why the chain of command is _so_ important, despite the fact that we fight under no specific flag, or for no particular country?" Perry asked, his eyes narrowing on his younger hot-headed Lieutenant.

Reese licked his lips, shifted his weight, and appeared impatient with the obviously rhetorical question. He didn't reply.

"Because of discipline, Reese," Major General Perry began. "Discipline will hold even the most unruly of men together. It will push men to ignore their fear and fight, even risk death. You're an officer in this Army, Reese, a damn fine one. He is a soldier, treat him as such, and get him in line. Is that understood?" Perry asked another rhetorical question, any answer besides yes would be unacceptable to the stone faced flag officer.

"Yes," the Lieutenant replied after a pause.

"Good. Dismissed," Perry responded, his even tone never changing in the slightest. Lieutenant Reese snapped a crisp salute. The General stood and offered one in response. Lt. Reese lowered his hand, took a breath to calm himself and clear his head, then exited the room.

Outside two of his men waited for him, Wisher and Kai. Wisher was a bearded man, older than even Reese. He usually wore a watch cap, which he pulled down nearly to his eyes. Despite being a good soldier, he never rose high in the ranks. He didn't show much in the way of initiative or leadership; instead he was just a good follower. He took orders, and carried them out to the letter, rarely failing to accomplish a given task. The soldiers of the team called him the grand old man of the 132nd, as he was quite a bit older than most of the other fighters. He didn't mind it much, he was always willing to crack a joke, even at his own expense.

Kai was Japanese, and much younger then Wisher or Reese. He was spunky, enjoyed fiddling with whatever electronics equipment he could get his hands on, and acted as the squad's radio operator. The men always gave him a hard time over being a soldier, and that he was more suited to be a technician, but he always said that the life of a 'rear-echelon mother-fucker' was never his bag.

"What'd the ol' Iron-Horse have to say?" Wisher asked with a toothy grin. His eyes watched his commander closely, as he tore a piece of old, hardened beef jerky off and began to chew on it. He was an old friend, probably Reese's oldest, and he knew the dogged soldier better than anyone-- save perhaps his younger brother.

"Nothing we can do about it. He stays," Reese said plainly, emotion now waxed from his face.

"Bullshit," Kai grit his teeth, shaking his head with frustration. Ramos was a good man, and Ramsey was most certainly to blame for his death.

"Kai, tell Corporal Ramsey to report to my quarters, ASAP," Reese told the young man of Asian descent. Kai nodded and replied then trotted off to the find the wounded young soldier who had caused Ramos' demise.

"What're you gonna do?" Wisher asked with interest, rare seriousness crossing his face.

Derek shook his head, unsure. "I don't know."

Later, Corporal Ramsey rapped on Lieutenant Reese's door. He heard the word 'Enter' in a strong tone on the other side, and he did as he was ordered. He stepped inside, closing the door.

Derek Reese sat calmly in a shabby chair in the center of his quarters, a dank, dimly lit area that had probably been used for storage before J-Day. The place reeked of mildew. A cot, stained with sweat and God knows what else was pushed in the back corner, a makeshift dresser that appeared to be built by Reese himself (or a craftsman of similar skill, or lack thereof) was just beside that. Not much else was there, or at least it was difficult for Ramsey to tell. His eyes were still adjusting to the darker atmosphere.

"You asked to see me," Logan Ramsey asked, somewhat uneasily.

The Lieutenant's grey eyes slowly met Logan's. He was quiet, and still. Logan waited for several moments for some kind of response, but none came. Clearly the officer was trying to unnerve the young man. It worked, at least to a certain degree. The young Corporal shifted his weight, unsure of what he was doing here.

"Aware of what happened today?" Reese finally broke the silence, but the tension had not yet left the room, and Logan doubted that it would. Reese was obviously referring to Ramos' death, something he wouldn't be happy about. Logan knew that he was probably being held responsible for that, whether that was right or wrong he felt was debatable.

"Yes." he replied quickly.

"Yes, sir." Reese corrected him, his eyes narrowing on the soldier. The man's bandages were fresh, as if just applied by someone. How lucky for Ramsey. "So you know that Ramos is dead then?"

"Sir," Ramsey paused. He didn't understand the point of these questions, of course he knew. Most of Kansas bunker knew by now, and why was he asking Logan anyways, was he trying to point something out?

"Yes or no, Corporal?"

"Yes, sir." Logan again shifted his weight. The Lieutenant's grey eyes seemed to dig into him even harder now.

"So you're aware of the part you played," Reese said matter-of-factly, as if the event was not up for debate in the slightest.

"I don't understand, sir," Ramsey responded, his discomfort clearly showing. Reese sat back in his chair and scratched the side of his head, as if the answer didn't satisfy him.

"You disobeyed a direct order, Corporal," he jabbed.

Logan cocked his head quizzically. "No, sir. My headset wasn't working properly, you were coming in broken an-," Logan was cut off as Reese leapt for his seat and got into the young soldier's face.

"You disobeyed a direct-God-damn-order, and Corporal Ramos is fucking dead because of that!" he snarled. Rage seemed to be soaking his tone, yet his face betrayed no emotion, only intensity as his eyes burned into Ramsey's own. The much younger soldier could not hold the gaze long, and broke it off. "You don't feel anything do you? He's just another body, another nameless, faceless bastard, who fell trying to carry your stupid unconscious ass to safety." Reese's voice brought Ramsey's eyes back to meet his own.

"No, sir," Ramsey offered meekly. He bit his lower lip, part from anger, part from the guilt he felt. He was not a monster, not like Reese was making him seem. He felt for Ramos, or at least he wanted to. It would have been better if it was him instead, it would always be better if it was him instead, but it never was. Did they expect him to apologize for that?

"Well you should know, Ramsey," Reese eased back. His hands slowly came to rest in his lower back, and he clasped them together there. He walked a few paces away from the Corporal; he seemed to relax a bit. "You should know that after the grenade went off and you were knocked out, he pulled you up on his shoulder and tried to carry you from danger; danger you put him in. He was bloody and wounded, no different than you. Then he was torn to shreds by burning hot plasma as he did that for you. Dead before he hit the ground." Derek's tone was somber now, his back was facing Ramsey but he turned his head to the side so his subordinate could hear him more clearly. His eyes did not address Ramsey, however.

Corporal Ramsey swallowed with difficulty. No words came to his mind, he knew nothing he could offer would be enough for this Lieutenant. The man had a reputation for toughness, and it was clear he wasn't happy about Ramsey, no one was. Everywhere he went, a cloud of rumors and wonder followed. He was cursed, he was a suicidal maniac, he was an over destructive lunatic thirsty for his own death. It didn't matter, all of it swirled around him like a tornado as he went from place to place. Here would be no different.

"If you ever compromise the safety of my men again," Reese began, he turned to face the wounded trooper and approached him; getting good and close in order to deliver his message, his threat. "I won't leave you out there to die, I'll kill you myself."

His eyes continued to glare at Ramsey, and he seemed as if a possessed devil to the man in his early twenties. Ramos had meant something to him, meant something to the team, and he felt as though Ramsey had deprived them of him. Perhaps he thought Ramsey was even worse than the metal, he hadn't seen this kind of intensity out of his new commander so far.

"Is that all, sir?" Ramsey asked, swallowing with some difficulty. He was uncomfortable, and perhaps a bit fearful of what this officer would do. He would not admit that to himself, however. He felt no fear, not when fighting machines, and not when dealing with this officer.

"That's all," was the blunt reply. With his hands still clasped behind his back, Lieutenant Reese turned away from Ramsey. "Get out."

Ramsey let out a breath, and without another word he left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. It might take a drink to take some of the edge off, and he ventured off to find himself one.

Reese held his stance for a few moments, contemplating their exchange. Ramsey wouldn't admit that he was wrong, he was too proud for that, or too stupid. Perhaps he didn't believe he was responsible for Ramos' death. But that couldn't be the case, he had to be aware of what people said about him, he had to know that the odds were stacked against him. For him to disobey the man who had operational control of the mission is clear enough of an indication, he was responsible, and there was no doubt in Reese's mind that Ramsey was aware of that.

He let out a sigh and fished around in the cargo pocket of his ragged utilities pants. He pulled out a small tag attached to a rusty chain. He looked down at the small piece of metal, fingering the surface of it. 'Ramos J.' was etched faintly on the small object. He walked over to his poorly built night stand and set the tag down amongst a pile of other tags. Men who had served, men who had died, all under the charge of one Lieutenant Derek Thomas Reese, 132nd SOC under Major General Perry.

He reluctantly glanced down at the small pile. Nearby it sat a small white candle. It was melted down nearly to nothing. He lit a match, then transferred the flame to the wick of what remained of his pathetic candle. This was his tribute to the fallen, his poor attempt at a memorial for a young man who died long before his time. A boy who was forced to become a man before his time, forced by machines, and this damned war they had been fighting for so long.

He sat down in his chair, ran his hands through his hair then cupped them in front of his mouth. He rested his elbows on his knees and stared at the slow burning, flickering candle light. He could feel the lump in his throat, he could feel the tears sting at his eyes, but no tears came. He wondered then, was it more agonizing to lose a man, or to feel less and less pain each time one fell? He had become far too familiar with death, and perhaps this was the saddest thing of all…


	3. Eyes Without a Face

Chapter 3: Eyes Without a Face

Allison scooped up a bit of the goop that passed for food, then dumped it back into the bowl from whence it came. She was so tired of this stuff. It was a mix of protein powder, oatmeal, and baby food all thrown together for a 'nutritional' combination that looked and tasted like puke. A piece of stale wheat bread sat idly beside the bowl, used to mop up the sludge. She let out a longing sigh, trying to think back to the days of good food, but that was such a distant memory that it seemed fruitless to try at this point.

The area she sat in served as a mess hall of sorts. It was a somewhat larger, more open tunnel area within the entire bunker complex that made up Kansas. It was an attempt at a restaurant, a particularly sad attempt at that. But they tried everything to attain some sense of normalcy in this post-apocalyptic hell hole, and this was a place you could get food and even have a drink of the strongest kind of moonshine this side of Wilshire boulevard.

An assortment of park benches, salvaged tables, and home made booths to sit in were spread out along the area. Crude paintings and posters adorned the grungy walls, including a particularly well done piece of a boot crushing the head of a T-600, with the words "Hang in there baby" etched across the bottom. The phrase had become a bit of a battle hymn for the Resistance, taken from unassuming posters that existed before J-day. It was simple, but it's meaning was deep enough to inspire most to continue on.

As she contemplated the taste of her gourmet feast her attention was drawn away to a ragged group of soldiers who solemnly entered the tunnel, and pulled chairs around a splintering old table. A civilian who worked there asked them what they'd like, and the largest of the group, a man that Allison knew as Kirby, said 'Drinks all around'. The 'waiter' nodded and shuffled off to fetch some of the famous grog the dive was known for.

Her eyes narrowed on them, as they laughed and joked but in a quiet tone. Something was missing from their apparent happiness, as if it was all being faked for someone else's sake. Kirby was a big bearded man of African descent, and Allison had known him because he was extremely friendly and made it a point to get to know most of the people that worked around Kansas Bunker. She did not recognize his squad mates, however. But then she never really made an attempt to get to know any of the soldiers, her work and studying kept her very busy.

The alcoholic beverages were passed around in varying types of tankards and Kirby stood from the table, his plasma rifle dangling from it's sling on his back. He hoisted his mug in the air.

"To Ramos, may he find peace on the other side," he toasted. The group of men pounded their fists on the table then swilled down their booze. Each man grimaced to a particular degree from the rather potent concoction. Then they poured more from a pitcher at the center of the table and Allison could hear them reminisce about their fallen comrade.

She tried not to listen. She tried to turn her attention back to her dinner, but that was not very inviting. In addition to that she felt so bad for them; for their loss. It was not difficult for her to be saddened by the loss of others. The war had affected her as much as any other, she had lost her family; all of them. But that seemed so long ago, and the last few years she had been here at Kansas bunker, diligently learning skills necessary to defeat Skynet. As a result she was cut off from most of the real faces of this war. The men and women that ventured out into the wastes everyday, and risked it all.

These men were those faces, and they were lamenting a loss, something that they were no doubt accustomed to. For no man shed a tear, but instead buried themselves in the warmth that the alcohol provided.

After a while she managed to choke down her gruel. By now all the men of the squad had left, and only Kirby remained. The others had clearly been affected by the drinks they enjoyed, but Kirby sat quietly for the majority of their 'ceremony'. He didn't touch much of his own drink, and was quite sober at this point. Allison decided to offer him some company and moved to sit down beside him.

He glanced at her and showed a weary smile. "Allison, hey."

"How are you doing?" she asked with sincere interest. She didn't know him all that well, but she was concerned with his well being. He was such a nice man, after all.

"Not bad, not bad. We lost a guy today is all, and well we were drinking to his memory, and remembering all the stupid shit he used to pull," he cracked a smile, remembering some of the foolish pranks that Ramos used to pull along with Wisher. A startling pair the two made considering the significant age gap, but they had been good friends.

"What happened? I mean, if you don't mind me asking," Allison asked, she was careful not to prod too much. Many of these soldiers were not comfortable talking about their past, or the stuff that took place out in the wastes. Considering the amount of troops that the Resistance lost daily, she completely understood that mindset. The fighters became insulated, resistant to emotion, and many never wanted to get too attached to anyone in particular, for fear of them being killed at any given moment. It was the reality of the life they led, especially for the soldiers who fought to protect the civilians sheltering town in the tunnels.

"Nah, it's fine. We were just supposed to recon a production facility; blow it up if we could. Lieutenant called a no-go on the op, but the new guy disobeyed the order and Ramos got merced as a result," Kirby looked down at the table, he blinked several times, sadness tugging at his heart. Allison didn't know what to say.

"Who is the new guy?" she asked, though he could've said any name from the squad and she probably would not recognize it from any of the guys that had been around for a while.

"A guy named Logan, Logan Ramsey," Kirby responded, taking a swig of the fiery alcohol.

Allison canted her head, her interest piqued. It was a common bit of body language for her. "Really? Why would he do that?"

"I don't know," Kirby shrugged and shook his head. "I'm sure you've heard the rumors about him."

"No," Allison insisted. Indeed she had not heard the rumors, she wasn't aware of what people said about the young man she had treated just a few hours ago.

"Well, I don't know. He's some guy from Mustang bunker, served with the 7th before they were wiped out. I kind of feel bad for the kid, everyone was slaughtered over there; just him and his squad survived. Of course they're all dead now, though. It's a bit strange that he's the only survivor. Some say he's a curse, some say he's just suicidal and crazy. I don't know, I think maybe the kid just needs a little humanity in his life. He's got what it takes to be a damn fine soldier, but nothing grounds him in reality; he doesn't have anything to fight for. It seems like surviving just isn't enough for him anymore," Kirby shook his head again. He generally saw the best in all people, and while the majority of the squad immediately took a disliking to Ramsey, Kirby saw a tortured soul. He knew Ramsey was misguided, his hate and anger caused him to act irrationally, not so uncommon amongst the young and inexperienced survivors of J-day.

Allison was silent. She was trying to take in all of the information that Kirby had just told her. It seemed like so much to absorb, she had no idea that he had a past like that when she was treating him earlier. It was hard for her to understand, she was only seventeen, and true enough she had experienced plenty, but she was so cut off from the world around her lately.

"Anyways, I need some rest. If you'll excuse me," Kirby stood up and thanked Allison for sitting down with him for a moment, she nodded and watched as he left.

Only a few moments after Logan entered the hall. He glanced around a few seconds, and noticed Allison, at which point he joined her at the table.

"Hey, look, sorry for being called away before. I'm Logan, again, if you remember," he said somewhat sheepishly.

"It's fine," she nodded, raising a brow and cracking a slight smile. "Something I can help you with? Bandages doing okay?" she wasn't sure what his motivation was for sitting down beside her. Truth be told she was slightly uncomfortable, after what she had just heard. But then something also interested her, she wanted to know more about him, and if what they said was true.

"They're fine. Uh, well, I just wanted to get to know you," he managed to say, stumbling over his words a bit.

"Get to know me?" she smiled. "That's pretty unoriginal. I think it's the line that most of these troopers use on me."

An embarrassed look crossed his face, and his cheeks turned a bit red and he looked away for a moment. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hit on you. I-- I just don't have too many friends around here so… well, I really do want to get to know you," he said in earnest. She brushed a strand of hair from her face and he looked directly into her large brown eyes. For a moment he was lost, and could not think of what else to say, but she broke him from that.

"It's okay, I'm only joking," she said with a slight grin. Her smile was warm, and it reminded him of better days. No one had been this engaging with him for a long time. They hadn't noticed it, but silence passed between them for several moments. They both just looked at one another, saying nothing. Trance like almost. Allison noticed this and spoke again. "You know, you have fox eyes."

"Fox eyes? How's that?" Logan asked, a bit confused.

"Eyes like a fox. You know, the animal?" she said with another warm smile. Logan grinned shyly.

"How do you know what fox eyes look like? You ever seen a fox?" he asked, noting her young age. She had to be about three or four during J-day, no way she could remember what a fox looked like. They didn't see too many in this area afterward.

"Let me show you something," she stood from the table and offered her hand. Logan hesitated for a moment, then grasped it and she led him up from the table. He seemed almost bewitched by her touch. He hadn't felt human contact for a long time, and he had forgotten how comforting it could be.

She led him down a hallway, away from the dive they had been sitting in. Down a set of steps and around a few corners lined with blinking old light bulbs until they finally reached an old rusty steel door. She cracked open the door and it eased open with a creak. They stepped inside, and she plugged a small cord into an outlet.

The room was tiny, barely five feet by eight feet. But she had made it her home. The plug she had inserted was for a string of white Christmas lights that she had hung up around the upper part of her wall. They illuminated the place well enough. A dirty and torn cot was pressed against the wall, a threadbare wool blanket folded up at the head of it. She had constructed herself a small desk from wood planks and some cinder blocks. There she turned on a lamp that had no shade, and a faint bulb added more light to the room.

The walls had an assortment of pictures on them. Sketches, drawings done in pencil and pen of many things; animals, streets, trees, buildings, rivers, even the wasteland around Kansas bunker. There was a great deal of skill that could been seen in each illustration.

"Did you draw all of these?" Logan asked with some bit of amazement. Art and the skill to draw, or create was lost on him. He was much better at destroying things. He didn't have the vision for art; he couldn't even draw something he had a picture of.

"I did," she told him, with a smile and a bit of pride. "Here."

She sat down on her cot and fished around beneath it. From below she pulled out two magazines. One was an old National Geographic with a baboon on the cover. The edges were frayed and torn, and it was clearly very worn and missing many pages. Other loose pages were stuck inside. In addition she had what looked like some sort of coffee table book about animals, which was in a bit better condition. She began flipping through it and indicated that he should sit down beside her. He did so, and felt a bit uncomfortable being so close to her in the small room.

She finally found the page she wanted, and pointed to the photo. "See?" she asked. The photograph showed a close up of a fox who sat upright, keen and alert; listening to his surroundings. "Fox eyes. Just like yours. Vigilant and determined, but innocent and sweet at the same time." She brushed another strand of hair from her face and looked over at him.

Logan swallowed hard, and said nothing in reply. He looked down at the photo. He was mute for a few more moments, then shook his head and looked back at her.

"I'm not innocent," he said shaking his head.

Her eyebrows furrowed and she looked away. There was an awkward silence then, and he was sure he had said a foolish thing. He closed his eyes lightly and tried to think of something to say, but no ideas came to mind. She just looked down at the picture of the fox, and would not look back at him.

He let out a sigh and stood up. "It's late. I-- I should hit the rack. We've probably got a few patrols to run tomorrow," he told her awkwardly, rubbing his sweaty palms on his trousers.

She looked up and nodded at him as he moved to the door. He opened it and glanced back at her.

"It was good to meet you," he said hesitantly. Then looked away from her.

"It was good to meet you too," she said back, a smile crossed her face but it seemed more forced than anything. He eased the door closed behind him and headed back to his quarters to sleep the remainder of the night.

She looked down at the fox once more and wondered if he was being honest. Maybe he wasn't innocent. Maybe that was all gone…


	4. Midnight to Midnight

Chapter 4: Midnight to Midnight

Logan only had a few hours to enjoy the warm embrace of slumber. He was jostled awake by a hulking, barrel-chested Resistance fighter.

"Wake up, we've got a mission. Reese wants you in the assembly area ten minutes ago," he snorted gruffly, then left the small partitioned space that acted as Logan's room. It was Dallas, the biggest brute of the team. He was a man nearly the size of a T-600; his long brown hair was dirty and almost resembled dreadlocks from the years and years it had gone unwashed.

Logan rose on his cot, or rather what he called a cot. In actuality it was a board of wood laid out with four cinderblocks propping it up from the ground. He laid a few pieces of cardboard over the wood to make it softer. He had learned a long time ago that getting distance from the cold Earth was the best way to stay warm.

He rubbed his eyes and grimaced. He was exhausted, his body was sore and aching. His wounds stung and burned, and he felt as though they were bleeding again, but a quick glance at the bandages proved this to be false. He swallowed his anger at being forced from sleep and dragged himself from his bedchamber.

The assembly area was identical to any other part of the maze of tunnels that ran beneath the city of Los Angeles. It was cramped compared to where the soldiers ate their meals, but it was a place where weapon inspections, gear checks, and operation orders could be given by team leaders before setting out on a mission.

Two barely working bulbs swung from the ceiling, eradiating an eerie yellow-orange glow upon the men assembled there. Logan entered and looked around; he was obviously the last one to arrive. The other six members of the team were all waiting for him. Reese glared at Ramsey with an obvious sign of irritation across his face.

"Waiting on you, Ramsey," he indicated wryly, as if this was to be expected. Apparently he had not yet given the op-order. Logan shuffled in and sat down beside on the other squad members, who decided not to pay him any attention.

"All right, listen up," Reese began. "We've got a tasker from General Perry; our mission is to proceed due North beyond the facility we were at yesterday. We're going to take up a position that provides over-watch of a key machine land supply route. The job is to assess whether or not Skynet is sending in reinforcements or repair columns to rebuild what we destroyed yesterday. This is a recon operation, we avoid contact at all costs; observe and report back to higher. If the situation looks like Skynet isn't supporting the facility with any sizeable force then Perry will make the call for us to knock it down. We don't make any hostile moves until he gives the order, is that understood?" Reese looked directly at Logan once more, his steely eyes digging into the young soldier. The group of soldier's nodded, or grunted their understanding.

"All right then, be at the tunnel exit in five mics," Reese announced. He closed up the small handbook he was reading his notes from and stuffed it in his pack.

"You heard the man, gents. Grab your gear and get your asses to the exit on the double. No God damn dawdling about," Kirby barked. He was the acting second in command of the team, and was the hard lining Sergeant that backed up his Lieutenant at all times. The man was intensely loyal to Reese.

As the soldiers shuffled out of the opposite side of the assembly area Reese grabbed Logan by the arm, his grip was tight, and Ramsey's eyes met that same familiar glare from his Lieutenant.

"I mean it, Corporal. _No_ contact. Don't give me a reason to kill you out there," Reese's voice was cold, without emotion. Ramsey was unsure of how to reply to the threat, instead he only wrenched his arm free and followed the rest of the team; preferring silence.

The squad awaited Reese's arrival at the exit point of the tunnel complex. Jack, a stout man nearly six feet tall stood at the entrance. He had dusty blonde hair and soft blue eyes and sharp facial features. The man rarely ever spoke, but had a reputation as a solid fighter and a man with great senses. As such, he was the point man of the team, and did an excellent job as a scout.

The team formed up into patrol formation, a staggered column. Reese positioned himself in the center of the column nearby Kai.

"Call us out, Kai," he ordered. Adjusting the sling on his M-27 phased plasma rifle so that it was more comfortable.

"Kansas COC, this is Bravo-1, requesting permission to exit friendly lines with seven packs, how copy?" he spoke into a handset that was attached the man portable radio he carried. Most of the members of the team had personal radios to communicate with one another, but in order for them to stay in touch with command they needed something better, especially when they traveled great distances away from Kansas bunker. They operated on a frequency hopping cipher text. All the radios were timed together so they alternated frequencies making it hard for the machines to intercept the signal, even then they'd have to break the encryption.

"Bravo-1, this is Kansas COC, you're cleared to exit friendly lines. Good luck and be safe out there, gentleman," a voice cracked in response after a few moments.

Kai hooked the handset onto his gear. "We're good to go, sir," he told Lieutenant Reese. Reese looked to Jack at the head of the patrol and indicated they were ready to move. Jack eased open the door and pressed his way out into the wastes, the rest of the team following silently as ghosts behind him.

The pre-dawn air was cold and dust choked. The men glided from their safe haven out into the uncertainty of the wastes, where wanton destruction left the city of Los Angeles in a ruined scene of it's former existence. The entire vision of it was miserable, and depressing. Grey tones coincided with darker blues and blacks to paint an ugly picture of reality. The bright greens of grass and trees, and the vibrant mix of other colors from flowers and the like were gone now; destroyed long ago by the holocaust that left three billion dead.

What remained of the asphalt roads and sidewalks that had not been melted away was crumbling, and the crew quietly made their way through the ruins of what was once one of the greatest cities in the United States.

The moon attempted to break through a hazy overcast of low hanging dark clouds that quietly made their way across the late night sky, but it did this to no avail; only an occasional sliver of the shining lunar body broke through. The illumination benefited the soldiers, it made it possible to maneuver with better vision; to locate a threat before it located you.

The endos would be scanning the area with infrared, and the most dangerous possibility would be to stumble into a location that a T-600 hunter-killer patrol was observing. Ambushes cost the Resistance many lives, and though it was easier to travel at night, it wasn't altogether that difficult for the machines to get a bead on a thermal signature and kill you. After all, just about everything out here was dead, save for humans scurrying about.

After moving a few hundred meters Jack signaled for the patrol to stop, and waved for them to take a knee and seek cover. The squad did so, automatically. They were conditioned to this sort of thing; when moving at night you made as much progress as you could, then you stopped to listen to your surroundings. You ensured you weren't being followed. It was a tactical halt, security was set up in a circle looking out, and the men listened quietly. They listened for anything, a rock being kicked, a piece of a building crumbling, the advance of metallic footsteps. Only the sound of the cold, heartless wind blowing through the rubble was heard.

The eerie sound of that deathly silence was enough to drive many nervous civilians to madness. What could that wind hide? A machine stalking to kill you? The ruins always seemed to be alive with metal; searching out human beings to kill them without emotion or prejudice, only to carry out their mission.

But these men were familiar with the wasteland's intricacies. They knew the machines operated in small numbers, knew that they had the advantage of silence and surprise. A machines servo-motors and joints made enough noise to key off of. Humans had no such problem. This was their advantage; they were swift, silent and deadly. The machines were slow, lumbering and loud. But if you were pinned down by a group of the heavily armed T-600s, then you were in a world of hurt, and the desperation of such a situation was enough to overwhelm even some of the most experienced teams. So the idea was to hide, and only to attack when surprise was in your favor, and when you had a good place to retreat from. Hit and run, that was the best tactic they could use, because they couldn't stand up to machines in a straight up fight for very long.

After a few moments in their security halt, the team rose from their positions and continued on. In the distance they could see HK-Aerials sweeping over the ruins, their search lights methodically searching the wastes for survivors; civilian and military alike. If the machines could, they'd capture you. They needed bodies to work at their camps, but despite this they didn't hesitate to eliminate a person if capture seemed unlikely or improbable. The micro-seconds it took for each unit to decide whether it would kill or capture was alarming, and the Resistance could never figure out whether or not there was any way they assessed who would be captured and who would be killed.

The team carried on, as quietly as before. Despite the cold air, each man was sweating; it took a great deal of energy to stay as quiet as a mouse. Despite their experience, the entire ordeal was still a nerve racking affair. They could be attacked at any moment. Death was lurking in every shadow. In the cold morning gloom the mind could play tricks on you. Focus too hard and you'll hear sounds where there are none, or see movement where there is only stillness.

Suddenly, an Aerial swept overhead, and each man from the team dove for cover, seeking out anything that would hide their presence. Each crawled behind destroyed blocks of buildings, or hollow hulks of charred metal that was once a car or truck. The Aerial hovered nearby, it's tail rotating and kicking up dust and debris. It's running lights blinked red, and suddenly it's searchlight flicked on. The large beam of light danced across the wrecked buildings and roadways searching for life, so that it might terminate it.

Each man held their position, unwavering, unmoving, breath bated. Logan gripped his weapon tightly, glaring up at the Hunter-Killer with teeth grit. One slight movement, that's all it would take and that Aerial would bring all sorts of trouble down upon them. He wanted for nothing more than to fire on it; to bring it down and add it to the debris that was strewn across the landscape, but his weapon wouldn't do the trick, and God knows patrols of T-600s would hone in on their location from any trouble.

The Aerial swept across their surroundings, it's light probing in the cold shadows, searching out flesh and blood, hoping (if a machine could hope) to find a target to terminate. But it was unsuccessful, and it quickly moved on to search another location for any human patrols.

Logan let out a heavy sigh of relief. Sweat ran down the side of his cheek, and he wiped it away with a dirty, gloved hand. Reese signaled for the team to continue on, and they did so, picking up the pace now as they didn't wish to be seen by that Aerial, and sunrise was rapidly approaching.

After a solid two hour movement from Kansas Bunker out into the barren land of bleached skulls and half rotted corpses, they found the site of their objective. A road that still held up most of it's integrity; it was littered with burned out husks of cars, vans, and trucks, but Skynet used it to transport materials via a land route. This was the best way for them to send repairs to the facility Reese's team had attacked the day prior, if they would send repair teams at all. There was no rhyme or reason to the way Skynet behaved, it was as unpredictable in it's overall machinations as any human commander; making operations like this necessary.

A scorched convenient store with shattered windows proved to have decent view of the overall landscape, and a solid commanding position on avenues of approach. Reese ordered his men into the building, and they scurried in without hesitation, relieved to be free from the openness of the wasteland.

They moved up to the rooftop, which was covered with stones, garbage and rubble from neighboring buildings which had collapsed upon this small structure in the nuclear blast. It provided enough cover for them to safely set up operations. Reese posted Jack and Dallas on the rooftop with strict instructions to radio down to the rest of the squad regarding any unusual activity. The rest of the team moved down into the building itself. Reese told the team to see if any food or water could be found in the building, however doubtful that would be.

They fanned out and searched diligently through the aisles. Nothing was found, or at least nothing seemed to be found, even though Logan took keen interest in something that he stuffed into his assault pack before any of the other squad members could see. After their unsuccessful search they returned to Reese, making him aware of what they found, or rather what they did not find.

Throughout the day watch was rotated on the rooftop, and eyes on the roadway were maintained at all times. But Skynet sent no reinforcements, no tracked vehicles laden with supplies to repair what Logan and Ramos had destroyed. An occasional patrol passed in the distance, their location hastily reported down to Reese, but nothing to alarm the team, save for a few close fly-bys from HK-Aerials. By sundown Reese had radioed back to General Perry alerting him of the situation; no apparent reinforcements or repair columns routed to the facility.

Perry acknowledged this and ordered that the team return to base after sundown, they would be ordered to destroy the facility en-route back to Kansas bunker. Reese understood the new mission objective then broke communications with the COC. He quickly briefed his men of the new situation, much to Logan's pleasure. He was happy to hear they'd return to blow up the rest of that damned facility, as insignificant as it might seem it was a minor victory for the Resistance, and a small bit to sate his thirst for destroying more metal.

Nightfall came as it always did, the bright red hue of the sun slowly faded below the horizon, leaving only the cold dark night in it's wake. This was the familiar operating time for the Resistance, they were used to it, but it never was any less saddening. We own the night, that's what they all said, but they were as frightened in the darkness as they were in the light.

The squad quietly packed up and made it's way back in the direction it had approached, being sure not to follow the same path. Travel time back to the facility did not take long, and within a thirty minutes they were at the outskirts of the wrecked building. Security was not apparent now, the dozen or so T-600s that had been there previously were nowhere to be seen now; which seemed odd to Reese.

Logan chafed for the opportunity to get down there and plant some charges, but Reese insisted on scouting the area. He dispatched Jack to do this, but the soldier returned with nothing of value after about ten minutes. The machines seemed to be gone, he couldn't find any trace of them.

"This is strange, I don't like it," Reese muttered.

"Well, we can get down there and plant the explosives, destroy the materials and the equipment real fast and bug out," Wisher suggested.

"Could be a trap," Kirby mentioned. Skynet was not altogether very crafty when it came to outmaneuvering humans tactically. They relied on brute force, heavy firepower, and coming straight at the enemy. But every now and then Skynet laid elaborate tricks and traps that usually led to a lot of dead Resistance soldiers.

"Well, we've got no choice, orders are orders. Dallas, Jack, Ramsey; get down there and plant the explosives. The rest of us will provide cover from up here," Reese told them.

The trio nodded and immediately moved to complete their assigned task. Swift and silent as usual, they made their way down the embankment that the team was positioned on and quickly moved across the open ground between that embankment and the facility's production equipment.

Reese indicated for his men to fan out and take up good positions to fire on any enemy that might surprise his team.

The trio quickly entered the facility, and Dallas passed out the explosives. They were a bit more fancy, C-4 rigged to a remote detonator the big man possessed. Everything that seemed important was set to explode. Machines that built other machines, as well as containers that held titanium alloy.

Ramsey placed his last charge then stopped in his tracks, hearing noises deeper in the facility. He listened intently, hoping to hear another sound, but none came. He let out a breath and then moved to rally with Jack and Dallas, who had also completed their placement.

"Ready to go?" Dallas asked in a deep voice.

"Yeah, I don't think we're alone here. I heard something," Logan exclaimed, his head motioning back toward the deeper recesses of the facility. Dallas glanced in that direction but didn't pay the comment much mind.

"Let's move," He announced and the three of them set out from the facility into the open ground.

After moving only about ten feet outside the group came under heavy plasma fire from the facility. Gouts of dirt kicked up around them as they began to move in varying paths to throw off their attackers aim.

Blue shots of plasma screamed past them, burning up objects around them. Reese and his team began firing from their position on the embankment, pouring rounds into the facility, hoping to provide some suppression fire. But the machines attack didn't slacken, and they continued to fire upon Jack, Dallas, and Ramsey. Jack was quick and small, and this allowed him to scurry away into a good covered position, escaping the machine's attempt to kill them.

Logan quickly realized he had left his pack in the facility, and came to an almost dead stop in open terrain. Dallas shouted at him to get down, but he turned and ran back for the facility; much to Dallas' chagrin. The large, long haired soldier took shelter behind some rubble and provided cover fire for his foolhardy companion.

Logan dodged shot after shot then slid into the facility to grab his pack from he had left it. He heaved it onto his shoulder and with a backward glance noticed red eyes gazing at him from the darkness where he had heard the noises earlier. With a lump in his throat he hauled himself back to his feet and scrambled from the building, quickly rejoining Dallas under heavy fire.

They turned and shot back at the facility, firing shots at random as they couldn't seem to locate a viable target.

Two T-600s advanced from the entrance they had just left and began to maneuver on their position, dumping rounds into the steel dumpsters they hid behind. The plasma began to wear away at their cover. Dallas popped out from behind the cover, hurling a fragmentation grenade in the direction of his attackers. His grenade was well placed, but he paid for it; receiving a plasma round to his thigh which burned and sizzled through his trousers and into his soft flesh. He cried out in pain, and Logan yanked him behind a nearby dumpster.

The grenade exploded, riddling the two 600s with shrapnel, but doing little to slow their advance. Logan looked at Dallas who was wincing from the extreme burning in his thigh. "Blow the charges!" he shouted over the din of combat surrounding them.

"No way, we're in the kill zone!" Dallas replied. The charges they had set would set off quite a bang, and Dallas made it clear that they'd be incinerated in their current location if they were blown.

Logan saw the detonator in Dallas' bloodied hand. He contemplated snatching it from the injured soldier and blowing the charges, death be damned, they'd annihilate a whole production facility and destroy a group of T-600s with them. He hesitated however, then banished the thought from his mind.

More rounds from Reese and the rest of the team slammed into the two endo-skeletons. One of the machines staggered under the fire, then crumbled under it's own weight. It's eyes flickered and the red hue was extinguished. The other 600 turned it's attention to the men on the embankment.

It was using a General Dynamics RBS-80 Phased Plasma Pulse Gun, a weapon that the Resistance usually had mounted on vehicles or deployed as a crew served heavy machine gun. The T-600, however, hefted it with ease. With it's high rate of fire the T-600 was immediately able to fire a rapid amount of plasma shots all along the embankment, forcing Reese, Kirby, and the others to take cover. They managed to fire off a few rounds, but the T-600 continued it's endless stream of suppressing fire.

Meanwhile, Logan used this as an opportunity to escape. He helped Dallas up and the two ran off as quickly as Dallas' wound allowed. They met up with Jack again, and with the point-man's assistance they were able to escape. Jack radioed to Lt. Reese that the trio was out of the kill zone and that they'd rendezvous with the rest of the squad at a pre-designated rally point. Reese acknowledged this with some relief, as he was in his own predicament now.

A detachment of T-600s moved from the building toward the squad's left flank, an attempt at out-maneuvering and destroying his small, strung out force. With the T-600 down in the courtyard suppressing them; keeping them pinned down, it would be hard to escape. But they had to, otherwise the metal's flanking element would be on them, and would likely provide enough effective fire to destroy them.

"We need to move!" Reese shouted at Kirby, who nodded from behind his disintegrating cover, but offered no suggestion as to how.

Reese frantically peaked over what he hid behind to see the T-600s quickly making progress to a better position to fire upon him and his team. He grit his teeth, and was forced behind cover once more as plasma shots scorched nearby his position, hissing and sizzling as they struck their target.

Wisher crawled under heavy fire over to Reese and produced an E.F.P. A homemade weapon that wreaked havoc on the machines, but was mostly reserved for use against Ogres or HK-Tanks. They were tough to come by, and as result the Resistance usually only used them in dire situations. At this point, however, they couldn't put effective fire down on the T-600 which was pinning them down with it's RBS-80 mini-gun.

"How about this?" Wisher offered with a grin.

Reese thought about it for a moment, reluctant to use the E.F.P. on a single T-600, but he didn't see another option, soon the other 600s would be in an advantageous firing position, and it wouldn't take them long to eliminate the rest of his team. "Do it."

Wisher pulled the handle on the end of the cylinder, and a yellow hue illuminated alongside it. He stood up and heaved the heavy object down toward the T-600. The fire ceased as the 600 glanced down to assess what had been thrown. But only seconds after it had hit the ground in front of the machine it exploded in a super heated ball of fire laced with destructive shrapnel. The explosion completely obliterated the T-600, allowing Reese and his team to move.

The other T-600 detachment saw this, and began to fire at Reese and his squad while they escaped, but to no avail; they were not in a position to effectively stop Reese's escape.

Later on the team rallied with Dallas, Jack, and Logan. A dressing had been applied to Dallas' injury, and he seemed to ignore the pain as best he could; attempting to present an image of someone as unaffected by pain and injury as a machine.

1-Bravo quickly made it's way back to Kansas bunker. Reese was adamant about that, as the T-600s would no doubt have called for support and soon the place would be flooded with Aerials. Before they left, Dallas took pleasure in detonating the explosives that had been planted. By now they were far enough away not to directly see the blast, but the explosion rocked the entire area and even as far away as they were they could feel the shockwave. The blast illuminated the night sky, and with happy faces among them all they headed for Kansas bunker; for home.


	5. Here She Comes

Chapter Five: Here She Comes

The squad arrived outside the tunnel entrance for Kansas bunker. Kai had called in for permission to re-enter friendly lines, but the team would have to go through the usual identification process before being allowed back inside. They slid open the outside doors after removing most of the debris that camouflaged them from the outside world.

The squad moved inside, with Lt. Reese standing at the doorway counting everyone as they passed him, ensuring that he had all the members of his team. He watched with a feeling of relief, they had accomplished the mission and had done so without losing anyone. He watched as a wincing and wounded Dallas made his way past, then stopped Logan in his tracks.

Cpl. Ramsey was at the back of the column, providing rear security for the squad during their movement back to Kansas bunker.

"Good work out there, Corporal," Reese said, his features betraying no such thanks. Ramsey simply looked at him, unblinking; his face covered in soot, dirt, and sweat. "It doesn't change the fact that Ramos is dead, though. Remember that." Reese waited for a reply, but Logan did not offer one, so he turned and entered the bunker. Ramsey shook his head in disappointment, as if it were necessary to be reminded of Ramos' death.

Logan solitarily made his way to the dive where the soldier's attempted to unwind, and as he entered the place he noticed the team was assembled at a table, drinking to the success of their mission. He stared at them momentarily. A few of them threw him a glance, but no one indicated that he should join them. He let out a sigh and then took a seat at a table at the opposite end of tunnel.

He watched Derek make a toast, and then gulp down the scorching alcohol. He patted a few of his men on their dusty shoulders then left the room, presumably for a debrief with General Perry. Logan sipped at his own drink, part of him upset that he had not been invited to join the squad, and another part reminding him that he didn't care for such frivolities.

After a few minutes, Kirby's bulky figure approached.

"C'mon Ramsey, why don't you come and join us for a few rounds," he offered, examining the downtrodden soldier with a friendly eye.

Logan leaned back in his seat and looked over at the table where the assembled team sat. They were looking back at him, no welcoming look on any of their faces. Instead they seemed to glare at him indicating they hoped he would not accept Kirby's offer.

"No thanks," Logan replied, sipping some of the moonshine and making a slight grimace from it's potency.

"You did a good job out there, okay? Dallas made it back here because of your help, we're all grateful for that. So come over and have a drink or two," Kirby insisted, bending over and placing his hands on the table. His words seemed sincere enough, but another glance at the team and Logan was fairly certain he was unwanted.

"I said no thanks," Logan said again.

"Fine, have it your way, kid," Kirby responded, wrapping his knuckles along the surface of the table. "But the offer is on the table," he continued as he returned to the table.

Despite the hesitant look on the face of the food server in the dive, Logan continued to order more drinks. In time the team left the area, but Logan continued to put down a few more rounds until the affects of the horrid tasting liquor began to catch up with him.

The patrons watched as he wearily made his way out of the hall and worked his way down the tunnels toward the living areas. He slowly moved into an area where dozens and dozens of survivors were living. Squatting would be a more accurate term. There were many of them, and each one seemed to be more pitiful then the one before.

Logan looked at them as he passed through. Garbage lined the hallway, as the people lived in a veritable trash dump, eating whatever they could find; barely surviving on the most meager of rations. Kansas bunker had been affected lately by a severe influx of refugees, people who had escaped from nearby complexes that had been overrun by machines.

Logan had been one such person not long ago. After the fall of Mustang bunker, he and his squad had come here, hoping to make good on all the people lost there; for they were the only survivors.

Logan reflected on those days somberly, there was no greater time when rage had consumed him; he'd lost his very soul in the plasma scorched tunnels of Mustang bunker. As his eyes searched through the slums he now walked through they came upon a young girl, perhaps just eight years old who looked up at him with keen brown eyes, innocent as any child's he'd seen before.

But there was a hope glimmering in those somnolent eyes, a hope that didn't exist on the downcast countenance of the girl's elders. She seemed to be hardly affected by the war-torn apocalyptic world around her. She simply looked at him, no emotion across her face, just that unflinching resilience deep within her eyes. She reminded him of his own sister, the one person who held him together in the dark world after J-day, after his father had died.

Heartache followed, a feeling of deep pain within his chest. He grit his teeth, fighting back that pain, but it overwhelmed him quite hastily. He made his way from the slum section of the tunnel complex, seeking fresh air; fresh air in a world where none could be found.

Instead he wandered up to a small pillbox, a hardened position carved out by the Resistance fighters to defend the bunker complex should a major machine assault ever come. It was a position reserved for general quarters, and as such no one manned it now. It was an empty bunker, with a few ammo cans placed neatly in the corners. He moved his way over to the small slit cut into the concrete wall, the gun port from which men would fire their weapons in defense of Kansas bunker.

He surveyed the ashen ruins of Los Angeles, his eyes panning across the depressing expanse they knew so well as the wastelands. All the days and weeks he'd spent scurrying like a rat through the decrepit remnants of a society long since destroyed, he'd never fully absorbed the entirety of it all. Now, with a bit of alcohol in his bloodstream, and fresh memories of his slain younger sister, despair crept up on him. This coupled with the devastating scene laid out before him was nearly all that he could stand. He placed his calloused palm against the rough, chipped wall before him, hung his head low, and a single streaming tear ran down across his scarred cheek, leaving a trail of slight cleanliness in it's wake along his dirt stained profile.

"There you are," a soft voice broke the dead air. "I've been looking for you all over the place. Kirby said you were in the mess hall, but when I got there you were gone."

Logan recognized the voice, it was Allison. He coughed a bit, and attempted to swallow the lump that seemed to be impossibly lodged in his throat. He turned to face her.

Allison could tell something was amiss with the young soldier. His eyes were bloodshot and watery, but he presented a grim face to her, unflinching as usual. Her heart tugged at her for a moment; he was a poor tortured soul but attempted to hide it at all times. People like that usually lost their minds in these modern times, attempting to shoulder the burden of the scorched Earth around them would only lead to a break down. The only thing that was different from one person to the next, was how long it took before that happened.

"I wanted to give something to you," she stated, opting not to the ask him what was wrong; considering he would likely just deny anything that perturbed him. She reached into her cargo pocket and fished out a piece of thick white paper, folded up several times. She handed it to him. "I thought maybe this would bring you some luck," she remarked, the ends of her lips curling slightly into a partial smile.

He took what was offered and unfolded the paper. It was a sketch, clearly drawn by Allison's well-trained hand. The picture was of a fox, similar to the one she had shown him in her book. However, this photograph was a close up of a fox that seemed to be looking around, ears perked and listening. Logan smirked, and then folded the sketch up and placed it in the breast pocket of his olive drab jacket.

"I have something for you as well," he replied, removing his pack from his back and shuffling through it. She stood there with a hint of excitement across her face, clearly surprised that this soldier would think to get something for her.

From inside the bag he pulled out a small container. It was clearly some sort of food from before Judgment day, it had already been opened, and the packaging was nearly illegible on the outside. It was clearly very, very old. He pulled open one side of the packaging and slid out a clear plastic tray.

"So these are actually really, really hard, but they still taste kinda good," he claimed airily. He offered the tray to her.

"What are they?" she asked, slightly bemused.

"Cookies. Chocolate chip, Chips Ahoy to be exact. Used to be my favorite thing in the world before J-day," he stated with a smile, the first she had seen on him since they met.

She took one of the discs from the tray and attempted to bite into it. It was rock hard, seemingly impossible to eat. "These will break my teeth!" she joked.

"You just have to put some effort into it," Logan advised, taking a cookie of his own and using his molars to break a piece off, then with a great deal of effort he chewed on the portion until he'd broken it down enough to swallow. "See? Delicious," he expressed.

She made another attempt in the fashion that Logan had exhibited for her. It was a success, but not without a significant amount of work. She worked the rock-like food in her mouth for what seemed like ages before she was able to swallow it. "It's good," she told him, attempting to sound sincere. In complete honesty it didn't taste that good, quite bland in fact. But the faint hint of chocolate was enjoyable, and that was something that she could scarcely remember from long ago. Chocolate, what a wonderful thing to eat, another small amenity in life they no longer got to enjoy.

They stood there in silence for several moments. Something that was common between the two, and Allison made her way to the wall beside Logan, looking out over the expansive wasteland laid out before them.

"So, what happened?" she asked after a few moments of silence.

"What do you mean?" he asked in response.

"What happened to you, what's your story?" she inquired. She knew this was a risk, he probably would not be willing to tell her anything, as he seemed like the kind of person that kept his past to himself. No one in Kansas bunker knew anything about him, except for the fact that he was a survivor of Mustang, and the last remaining soldier from his previous squad.

Logan was quiet for a few dozen seconds, contemplating on whether or not he should tell her. What would she think of him? He didn't want anyone feeling sorry for him, but he also felt that he might just have a new friend here; someone that might not judge him for his past indiscretions.

"I used to be innocent," he began, looking over at her. She looked back at him with soft, caring eyes, the kind that could wear down even the most staunch defensive barrier. "My dad; he was a Marine. A real bad ass, after J-day he started to teach me everything he knew. He said I'd need to know, need to be strong to protect my sister and my mother. We lived near this base out in Twentynine Palms, at least until the machines came. My mother was killed when the survivors tried to flee.

"For years after that we just survived out in the desert on our own, my dad continued to train me and teach me anything he could think of. I got better and better at shooting, sneaking around, foraging, hunting, stalking quietly, camouflaging myself; just about anything.

"We ended up linking up with a group of survivors, and that was nice being with people again for a few weeks, but the machines found us. My dad and some of the other men tried to hold the endos off while the kids and the women escaped. I'm pretty sure they killed him, I haven't seen him since," Logan paused for a moment, remembering the grim treatment he had received from his father. He was overly tough on him at times, and Logan had hated him for it often, but he understood why, he knew it was to harden him for dark days ahead.

"My sister and I wandered for weeks after that. She was only about ten at the time, but was always so hopeful. She would of made a better soldier than me any day. Nothing ever got her down, she always smiled; was always happy. Even with our parents gone, it was her reassuring me, not vice-versa like it should've been. Finally, we were found by some soldier's from Mustang bunker. They took us in and I joined up with the Resistance.

"I figured I could put my skills to use, and my sister would be safe in the bunker while I went out and did missions," Logan bit his lip, thinking about how his sister had always made him laugh, and reminded him of better days. She did such a good job of making him look to the future, a future free from machines where the sun shined down upon grassy green fields once more.

"What was her name?" Allison asked somberly.

"Alicia… she used to wait at the tunnel entrance for me. Whenever I'd come off patrol she'd be there waiting to give me a hug and ask me if everything was okay. She did it for years, like it was required or something.

"One day we were out on a recon patrol. We were gone for a couple of days. On the day we were set to come back one of the squads from Mustang was returning to base and carelessly led a T-600 back to the bunker. By the time we got back the whole place had been wasted. I lost all hope as we approached the place, I could see some of the soldiers dead outside. I rushed inside, and the first thing I see is Alicia lying there dead at the tunnel entrance. She was waiting for me to come home, waiting to give me a hug and remind me how important I was to her.

"Instead she was the first person that fucking terminator killed when it got inside. I was furious, I ran deep inside looking for it. Everyone was dead, but I found the machine, it was disabled, shot to hell by the squad leader who'd led it back to the bunker. He was wounded, all bloody and beaten leaning against a wall with his weapon pointed at the destroyed Terminator," Logan paused again, clenching his fist at the memory that had brought him so much pain and rage.

Allison narrowed her eyes on him, noticing the pain the recollection gave him. He didn't stop, though, instead deciding that he would tell his story, and let her decide what kind of a person he was.

"The guy just kept saying, 'I got, I got it'. He looked up at me like I was going to help him… but I didn't," Logan looked down at the dusty bunker floor, pausing for a considerable amount of time.

"What did you do?" Allison asked inquisitively.

"I killed him," he said plainly. "I shot him, and killed him. It was his fault, all his fault. So God damn careless. He led that fucking thing back to Mustang, and everyone was dead because of him, my sister was dead because of him," Logan paused again, wiping his face and staring blankly back out into the wastes.

Allison took in a deep breath, and swallowed hard. That was quite a revelation to make. Logan Ramsey had killed a man, another human being, a Resistance fighter. She didn't know what to think, part of her felt terrible for his loss, but she could not relate. Her parents had died when she was still very young, and not in a situation like that. She had only blamed the metal, she had focused on the machines and held them entirely responsible for their deaths.

But Logan had blamed one of his own, and he didn't hesitate to carry out a vicious sentence. What kind of a man was he? In total honesty she had never thought that he was capable of doing that sort of thing, but now she didn't know what to think, it was clear that any assumptions she made about him were wrong.

"Nobody knew what I did, I just came outside and told them everyone was dead, and we left and came here," he stopped his story again, looking over at Allison who did not bother to meet his glance, he turned his attention back to the outside world.

"We operated out of here for a while, but things had changed. I was being stupid, reckless even. I ended up getting all of them killed," Logan muttered, shaking his head with a feeling of great regret.

Allison looked over at him again, perplexed by the different layers that existed within him. One moment he was a steely eyed murderer, and the next he was a regret filled, shell-shocked veteran. "What happened?" she probed.

"We were out tracing a patrol of endos back to their base, after we'd located the place we were moving back here when we came across an HK-Tank. We hunkered down and the Lieutenant told us not to move. Instead I ran down with an E.F.P. and tossed the thing under the tracks. Of course I didn't get far enough away in time, and got caught in the blast. That's where I got most of those scars you saw earlier from… anyways, I was pretty banged up and I guess there was another group of T-600s nearby. They moved on the blast site to investigate. I could see them, through blurry, blood soaked vision I could see them fight over my almost lifeless body. I woke up here, and they told me everyone was dead…" Logan trailed off again, choking down his remorse.

"They didn't deserve that, they were good people," he told her.

Quiet returned to the air around them as Allison was unsure of how to reply to the Corporal's revelations.

She placed her hand on his shoulder, offering some sort of comfort. "You don't feel like life is worth living anymore?" she asked him, realizing his recklessness is probably related to some kind of sadness over what he'd experienced.

"Look at this place," he said back, motioning to the ruins outside of the bunker. "This planet is just a big heap of shit. Even if we do win the war, what do we do next?" he asked rhetorically.

"We rebuild. There's a strength we all share, something the machines don't have, something they can never understand, never produce in their factories or program into their processors," Allison told him with vehemence in her voice.

"Nothing around here is worth living for anymore," he related with some anguish.

"Nothing?" she challenged with a raised brow.

"Nothing," Logan shot back. He looked over and saw a frown cross her face, and realized he had made a foolish comment. She had clearly made an attempt to get close to him, to understand him and make him feel better over the situation they found themselves in, and he repaid her by saying that he'd rather die than live for their blossoming friendship. A friendship that he may have just extinguished.

"Well, I don't know what to tell you then, Logan," she exclaimed. "But I have some things I have to take care of so… I'll see you later, I suppose."

She turned and walked away, headed for the exit of the bunker. Logan regretted what he had said, very aware of the fact that he just alienated himself from perhaps the one person that was trying to befriend him.

"Thank you… thanks again for the picture, it's very well done, I'll keep it with me all the time," he expressed with seriousness, and attempting to repair the damage he had just done; albeit a weak attempt.

She turned and looked back at him. "I'm glad that you like it," she answered, forcing a small smile. Then she turned and exited the room, leaving Logan to survey the desolate world outside the bunker once more… alone.


	6. A Dangerous Mission Home

Chapter Six: A Dangerous Mission Home

Logan's laces were tattered and frayed, and as a result required a particular amount of delicacy while he labored to tie them. It was odd, considering once he had knotted the ancient strings they seemed unbreakable.

He sat back on his cot, surveying the tiny living space he called home. His inner clock told him it was daylight outside, but he couldn't know for sure; such was the agony of living below the surface. He could hear coughing and low conversations all around him. His tiny shielded home, sequestered from the prying eyes of those who spoke about all that he experienced. Those that told stories of his life, based on facts they had surreptitiously gathered after thorough and careful investigation. Or so one would believe if one were to hear the rumors, the details of which seemed blindingly more real than the very world they lived in.

He shook off the judgment of his peers, and decided it was an opportune time to clean his weapon. It had been a couple of days, and a good soldier kept a weapon fully operational by performing weapons maintenance regularly, especially after a patrol. But he had been lazy of late; the last few missions sapping him of nearly all of his energy.

Perhaps it was the rejection of his new squad, or a combination of the two, but things were evermore dismal than before and he could no longer take pleasure in even a simple task like keeping his weapon clean. This was something that he concentrated on heretofore, the world around him fading into oblivion, and that one ethereal focus became everything, his Westinghouse M-27 Phased Plasma Battle Rifle. A service rifle developed by the machines as a more effective way of killing off pesky Resistance fighters. It was capable of firing up to 850 plasma rounds a minute at the cyclic rate before overheating, and as long as it was taken care of it was very reliable. It had a max effective range for a point target at 600 meters, and over 900 meters for an area target.

Overall it was a trusty, and important weapon for the Resistance. It had been developed as a great technological leap beyond standard ammunition. This originally gave the machines an advantage, but now so many of their captured weapons circulated amongst the Resistance that it was rare to find a soldier not equipped with one. They were particularly effective against the metal as well, especially if the shooter aimed for the micro-processing chip in the right temple of the endoskeleton's head.

He brushed all along the upper and lower receiver of the weapon system with an all purpose brush before he popped out the retaining bolts and split the weapon in two, exposing it's innards. He deftly removed the entire firing assembly, and trigger housing group and diligently, but carefully cleaned the operating mechanisms of the entire weapon.

He worked for a solid hour, time ebbing by like the streams had once done before evaporating in the nuclear war. He re-assembled the rifle, did a function check, and satisfied with his work set the rifle aside.

From a holster strapped to his thigh he pulled the one item which held some semblance of importance. It was a M1911A1 Colt .45 pistol that his father had owned. It was in nearly perfect condition, as he had meticulously cared for it, and rarely fired it. Pistols and other small side arms were really an after thought when it came to self defense. They were useless against the machines, yet most soldiers insisted on carrying one. Perhaps it was just the peace of mind that they felt from a high, firm grip on a reliable handgun.

Footsteps, and the intruding sound of a man clearing his throat brought Ramsey's eyes up to notice his team leader, Lieutenant Reese standing before him hands clenched behind his lower back. The officer seemed relaxed, more so then Logan had ever seen in the past anyways.

"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?" Logan asked, wiping down the length of the stainless steel barrel on his priceless family heirloom.

"We've got an op tonight," Reese told him casually, at ease standing before Ramsey, who continued to clean his weapon.

"Where?" Logan asked, no indication of interest in his tone.

"It's classified. But I want you to know, Ramsey, it's going to be very dangerous. It's the kind of op that requires you to keep your shit together, to keep your head wired straight. Do you understand? You screw things up on this one; you get it in your head that you've got an opportunity to waste some endos, and everyone's dead," Reese was serious. His voice made that much clear, and he peered down at Logan with unyielding eyes.

Logan finally looked up at his squad leader, his eyes addressing the Lieutenant. "So what are we doing?" He re-assembled the pistol, not bothering to glance at the parts, then placed it back in it's holster on his thigh.

"You'll find out tonight. Mission briefing is at 1900, don't be late," without another word Lieutenant Reese turned sharply on his heel and left Logan to ponder for the rest of the day what they could possibly be doing that night…

As the fiery red glow of the sun began to set over the torn and shattered landscape of Los Angeles, Lieutenant Derek Reese and his squad began to assemble in a small corridor in order to receive a mission briefing that would explain to them the reason it was being considered so dangerous by Reese (who was already aware of the operation).

Surprisingly, General Perry appeared before the group of them, and right away all of the soldiers realized it would not be an ordinary mission. It was very rare that Perry briefed units personally, and this was a bit of foreshadowing for what would follow.

"Good evening, gentleman," Perry began. "You've all been given the warning order; that is to say Lieutenant Reese has made you aware of a particularly dangerous tasker you've been assigned, one that is nothing short of very hazardous. You need to understand something; this operation is classified, what you hear in this room is a secret, and you will treat it as such. Is that understood?" Perry questioned, his sagely eyes darting throughout the room, gleaning what he could from each individual's face he beheld.

"Yes, sir," the team resounded in unison.

The General paced back and forth for a moment. Lt. Reese was as still as a statue behind him, his hands clenched behind him once more, a posture he often assumed.

"Skynet has been particularly aggressive these last few months. I don't have to tell you that we've been losing a lot of good people out there. We're not exactly sure if they are just attempting to probe into our areas of operation in an attempt to assess our overall strength, or if they are in fact making a concerted effort to advance into our territory.

"The facility you men destroyed is an indication of that. It wasn't there a year ago, but Skynet quickly assumed the location, and converted it into a construction center for T-1s and some HK-Drones. Connor doesn't like to see metal action this close to home, and as a result he's been pushing Skynet back-- it's why you've seen such an increase in the operational tempo.

"Now, the mission at hand is an important one. As you already know Skynet is always researching new, wonderful ways of killing us. The rapid amount of time it takes for them to develop new, frightening technology is quite worrying to us all, and to Connor in particular. For weeks he's been tense, as if waiting for the metal to unleash some hellish, new monster. So far nothing new, nothing we haven't seen before. But that's not enough, we need to know what those bastards are up to, and so we're going to send you boys into find out what that is," General Perry stopped, centered on the collection of soldiers before him. He glanced over to a sealed door on the Western side of the corridor. The handle turned, and the door squealed open.

Logan sat back, an amazed look on his face, and nearly all of his breath escaped his lungs momentarily.

Allison Young, and another man, older with graying temples entered the room.

"I present you with Johannes Klaus and Allison Young, they'll be your technical support on this operation, Klaus will detail you on the finer points of the mission," Perry announced, relegating the remainder of the mission brief to the wizened technician, Klaus, who stepped forward eagerly.

"How is everyone?" he asked, pushing his eye glasses back up the bridge of his pointed nose.

Grumbles were the majority of their responses, and he smirked, as it was the most common reply to his friendly opening question.

"Now, you might not be happy to escort a couple of techs, but I've been in my fair share of scraps, so no need to worry. And Allison here, well, Allison can take good care of herself, no need to worry," Klaus related, quickly shooting a glance at an obviously nervous Allison.

"As for the mission particulars… well, we'll be headed to a place formerly known as Plant 42. It was a research and development center for experimental 'black' projects created and funded by the United States Air Force before Judgment day. The famous Skunk Works operated there, and some real fancy stuff came out of there; the SR-71 Blackbird, U-2, F-117 Nighthawk," Klaus paused, noticing slackening interest in his audience.

"Anyways, the plant is located in the Antelope Valley, near Palmdale. We've got reason to believe it's now being used by Skynet as an advanced research, development, and production facility for new technology. The kind of place all that spooky bullshit comes from, like those new T-800s. Major Hopper and his team were sent out over a week ago, and were successful at infiltrating the facility. But we only got a fragment of their message before we lost contact. They said something about a terrible new weapon… we don't know anything else," Klaus finished. He licked his lips in anticipation of questions that would follow, as the interest of the motley array of men was now peaked.

"What happened to Hopper and his men?" Wisher asked, his eyes narrowing on the technician.

"We don't know, we lost contact. We're assuming Hopper and his team are dead, however," Klaus answered.

"They're dead and we're just going to follow right in afterwards to die too?" Dallas challenged in an irritated voice.

"Look, this is important. Whatever Skynet's building out there, it's got to be pretty damn bad. They were only supposed to download files and insert a virus in the mainframe, then hoof it back to safety. They were advised not to break radio silence under any circumstances whatsoever, but they did. Hopper wasn't a fool, it must've been very serious information for him to break radio silence and attempt to get us that information," Klaus explained.

Allison shifted her weight uncomfortably, unsure of this entire ordeal. Klaus was her mentor, her teacher, and he was one of the best; but she wasn't sure about a mission that brought her to where she was born. Especially a mission that was so dangerous, and it was her first after all. She was terrified that emotion would overcome her, and that she'd become ineffective; entirely useless at the sight of where she grew up before the bombs fell. But Klaus had been insistent. He had told her she was more than prepared for the operation, and that seeing Palmdale, treading that dreadful trail once more would bring her some closure. Uncertainty would not be cleansed from her pores so easily, however.

"So we're going right into Indian territory? I mean, forgive me if I'm wrong but isn't that deep behind enemy lines? When is the last time skin has been on the other side of the San Gabriel mountain range? Cause I don't think it's been recent!" Wisher quipped, worry crossing his bearded face.

"This isn't up for debate. It's a dangerous mission, but we've got orders, and we follow our orders," Reese stepped forward with a snarl. "I don't want to hear anymore complaints. Everyday… everyday we go out there and risk our asses for minor gains. Tiny insignificant little victories that barely amount to anything even after a few years. But now we've got some serious shit coming down the pipe, and we're going to do something about it; because it's our job to make a difference out there. That's what we're about, winning this God damn war. If that means carrying our half starved, exhausted asses right down Skynet's fucking throat then that's what we do, and we do it without asking anymore bullshit questions. Is that understood?" Reese demanded, his brow furrowed in ire.

Everyone assembled was quite surprised by Reese's outburst, even Derek himself. He quietly placed his hands behind his back once more, relaxed, and stepped behind Klaus so that he could finish the briefing.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Klaus was appreciative. He looked over the small group of soldiers, waiting for any other comments, but none came. The seasoned officer was effective. "The mission is to infiltrate the facility, much the same way that Hopper did. Once we do, we gain access to the central mainframe, hack it, and download all the files inside. Then we insert a virus and get the hell out of there."

"What's the virus do?" Kai inquired.

"Well, it should spread throughout Skynet's networks and infect most of it's systems. Unfortunately Skynet's anti-virus software is much more sophisticated than anything we've got, so it's likely only to slow down global processing for them, at least till they get it quarantined and eliminated. It's a small attack in essence, but anything we can do to tamper with Skynet is worth it.

"However, it's not uncommon for Skynet to keep it's research facilities isolated from it's global network. It does this to prevent outside attack, or the compromise of information from an offsite source. That's going to require that we-- that I, re-open the network connection to allow the virus to spread to other Skynet terminals…" Klaus explained, scratching at the bit of graying scruff on his chin.

"So what does that mean for us?" Wisher questioned, feigning ignorance of what Klaus had just said.

"It means we might need you to cover us longer," Allison broke in. Klaus looked back at Allison, surprised by her decision to get involved in the briefing. He was fully aware of her reservations regarding the mission, but he was glad to see her gaining some confidence and involving herself more deeply.

"Ok, deal," Wisher said with a sarcastic grin. The entirety of the mission seemed to be insane at best. Humping miles behind enemy lines, cut off from all assistance, infiltrating a large and important Skynet base, downloading information, inserting a virus, _and_ repairing an internet connection so they could send Skynet a special e-mail. It was a daunting task, even for Wisher to think about. But he was dedicated to it; he owed the world that much…

"All right listen up, if there aren't anymore questions, I want you geared up and ready to move in twenty minutes. Bring your assault packs, as much food and water as you can carry, and hurry it up," Reese ordered. "We've got a long walk ahead of us."

After a moment it was apparent there were no more questions, and the squad was dismissed amongst a litany of chatter amongst the men. Kirby silenced them with his baritone voice, and urged them to hurry up with their assigned tasks and meet at the exit for Kansas bunker.

Allison watched Logan leave. He peered at her, his eyes fixated on her apprehensive features. She knew that he was aware of it, surely he'd know that she was green; that she hadn't experienced what he had. She was very young after all. A look of disappointment crossed his face before he exited, much to Allison's consternation.

She may not have been a soldier, but she had a responsibility to Klaus, to Tech-Com, to the whole damn Resistance and mankind itself. If she could help in anyway possible, then she had to. It was time to stop being the student, it was time to get involved in the war. It was time to take a perilous trip home…


	7. Helpless Anguish

Chapter Seven: Helpless Anguish

Sweat shone upon Allison's forehead as she trekked along amidst the group of seasoned soldiers toward their objective: her home in Palmdale. She felt no decrease in the anxiety that had slammed into her when she learned of the mission and the location of the objective. Connor had personally told her that she didn't _have_ to go on the mission, and that he fully understood if she declined. But you don't say no to John Connor, it doesn't work that way, and she understood that entirely.

She had trouble keeping pace with the troops that escorted her. She found it odd, these men who seemed so heavily laden with ammunition, weapons, packs of food and water, and even a few rockets were able to move rather swiftly through the dismal ruins of the city. She wasn't accustomed to moving at such a pace, and the team had to pause, or slow it's pace on several occasions in order for her to keep up.

Despite her sweat, the midnight air was chilly to say the least. Silence pervaded over the surroundings, and only the sound of the wind running it's course through the confounding maze of fallen structures and obliterated vehicles echoed in her ears. Each time the force of that wind endeavored to move even the tiniest object Allison reacted with great haste; wary as any trooper, and frightened as much as any civilian.

The sights around her not only scared her, but they struck a chord upon her gentle heart. She had not been outside of Kansas bunker for several years. She had remained there, training and studying to be a proficient technician as capable of any other who had been performing their tasks for years in real world operations. It took years to make a good soldier, but it took even longer to make a good tech.

As a result she had isolated herself from the harsh reality of the world she lived in. Sure, she could see the effects of the war, and the ravaged wasteland from the safety of the pillboxes arrayed to defend Kansas bunker, but it hardly did justice to the destruction.

Now as she quietly treaded her way through a city that was once been home to 3,850,000 people she could see the skulls that literally lined the open ground. What was not covered by rubble and debris was instead littered with the bones of the dead. It was a horrid sight, something she had banished from her mind long ago, but now it resurfaced and filled her insides with dread, churning her stomach with an uncomfortable ache. She felt dizzy at times, but repressed that feeling. She soldiered on, because there was no other choice and she would not appear weak in front of these men.

Her mentor, Klaus, may have been a tech, but he was as much a soldier as any of the men in this squad. He had brazenly fought in many engagements against the machines, and earned himself enough of a reputation; not just for his skill as a technician, but also as a hard-ass Resistance fighter. Allison wanted to be like that, wanted others to look at her and know she was the kind of person that could not only take care of herself, but was capable of doing severe damage to the metal too.

But inside she didn't feel it was possible. She carried her rifle as she had learned, but it felt awkward in her miniature hands. It was cumbersome and ungainly. She couldn't imagine firing at something, at anything; even a machine, despite the way she detested them.

The night carried on, unabated by the actions of man and machine alike. The sliver of a lunar body in the sky cast an eerie grey glow across the landscape. Shadows danced, changing their form as the hours passed and dawn drew nearer. It would be important to seek shelter; the squad did not wish to travel in sunlight, as it would be an easy affair for the machines to locate them.

Reese silently signaled for his squad to seek a suitable location to squat for the day, and they looked with enthusiastic eyes at all that surrounded them. Nothing seemed to offer what they needed. It was important to find something that provided a defendable position, a place that had a commanding view of their surroundings and several viable escape routes. This was a difficult thing to find in the city. The bombs had torn down most of the tallest buildings, and the smaller ones offered only one or two exit points.

The search was stalled as gunfire erupted in the pre-dawn air. It was heavy, and clearly an exchange between two sides. Reese motioned for his point man, Jack, to proceed with immense caution. He wanted to know where it was coming from, and who was firing it.

The squad was led up along an escarpment along which they skirted old jersey barriers from the highway that had once run through the area. They utilized the concrete barriers as cover as the sound of the gunfire became more and more apparent.

At last they found a place where they could identify the participants in the fight. A cacophony of plasma fire burst into the sky and the squad huddled below their crumbling refuge. Reese peaked up over the top and saw down below what the source of the gunfire was. It was soldiers of the Resistance. At a quick glance they were moving fluidly, covering while they tactically broke off contact with a group of machines.

"Who are they?" Allison asked with keen interest, gazing down at the beleaguered soldiers.

"Contact patrol, we send them out to try and hit machines hard then get the hell out of town fast," Wisher explained.

The squad watched as the group of soldiers below quickly began to lose cohesion. Communication started to break down and their casualties were mounting. Reese explained that it was a platoon sized element, and is much larger than their own team. "It's all about packing heavy firepower so they can sustain a fight with the machines," he said to no one in particular. Of course the other soldiers knew that, but Allison found the information useful.

"It looks like they're losing," she noted aloud. More men and women were shot and their tactical withdraw began to turn into a complete rout. "Aren't we going to help?" she looked helplessly at Lieutenant Reese.

"No," he responded, shaking his head slowly as he viewed the carnage through his binoculars. "Nothing we can do, we've got orders."

Allison looked over at Ramsey to see his reaction of command to stand-fast. He simply stared down at the gruesome slaughter that began to unfold below. She saw as his cheek flexed-- he was gritting his teeth. No doubt he felt a great deal of anguish, they all must have; their brothers and sisters were dying down below and they were helpless to lend a hand.

Allison was shocked by their lack of apparent emotion. They just tucked it deep inside, where it would eat away at their soul until each one was consumed by hate; the hate that ate away at Logan every day. Nevertheless, she found their discipline admirable, as even she felt as thought they _had_ to do something, and she was certainly no soldier.

Ramsey swallowed hard, the lump in his throat refusing to leave, however. His eyes stung at the sight of the dying troops. They seemed woefully ill-prepared for the onslaught that was advancing upon them; what was left of the soldier's anyways. He wondered how it got to be this bad. Was there platoon commander completely inept? Or had they stumbled upon a larger patrol then they originally expected when they started their ambush? It was anyone's guess, and he felt a pang of guilt for judging them; after all it didn't matter, in a few minutes they'd all be dead.

The last few well aimed shots from the Resistance were fired off a few moments afterward. Three soldiers remained, all of them wounded and out of the fight. The machines advanced upon them, and Lt. Reese's team watched as the metal dragged away the survivors kicking and screaming, perhaps to a fate worse than death.

"Poor bastards," Dallas muttered.

"I'll say one thing for sure, I'll never go out like that," Logan added, earning a raised eyebrow and curious glance from Allison.

"For sure, the work camps are no way to live. That's hell on Earth I hear," Dallas put in, shaking his head.

The team watched for a few minutes, ensuring the machines had finished their business in the local area. There had in fact been several other survivors, but they were too wounded to be of use to the machines, and so they were left to the rats.

"Aren't we going to go and help them?" Allison demanded just as the squad began to move out.

Reese turned to address her. His eyes, normally so cold, took on a softer expression momentarily. "We can't do anything for them, we can't take them with us and we can't spare our own medical supplies. We have no idea what we're headed into," he told her with remorse in his voice.

"Walking into a shit storm is where," Dallas interjected.

"Secure that shit, Dallas," Kirby reprimanded the hulking giant of a man.

"Roger that, Sergeant," Dallas retorted with a sarcastic salute.

The squad began to move again, and it was clear the decision had already been made. Those few survivors down below; those men and women, those _human beings_ would be left to die. Their deaths would more than likely be horrible and slow. Allison wanted to stop the squad, she wanted to hand her weapon off and sprint down to provide any aide or comfort she could. Her heart called out to those people, especially when she began to hear their moans and cries. She steeled herself to walk away, there wasn't another option for her. Reese would never budge on the matter.

"Maybe we could put them out of their misery?" Kai suggested, their cries disturbing him greatly as well.

"No. Endos will hear the gunfire and come looking. Our mission is high priority, and we take no unnecessary risks. We have to be damn sure we don't get compromised," Reese ordered, his normal dispassionate demeanor returning once more. Despite the callous sound of his voice, Reese deeply regretted this choice, and hated himself for making it, but that was the burden of command and it was something he would have to force himself to accept.

The squad carried on, shouldering the burden of the physical weight from the packs they carred, but also the emotional and psychological weight of witnessing a platoon of Resistance soldiers being slaughtered, and doing nothing about it.

After several hours of travel the team made it's way outside the center of the Los Angeles basin, breaking free from the concentrated debris and rubble, and moving into the hilly countryside of the San Gabriel Mountain range.

Allison attempted, with all her might, to push that horrid memory from her mind. Was that what this war was about? Abandoning your comrades to a grisly demise? She couldn't believe what she had seen, nor could she cope with the sorrow she now felt. If this was the daily lives of these men and women that shouldered their rifles and headed out to fight the machines, then she didn't want to be a part of it. She wondered if Reese or any of the squad member's would act differently if it were her in that situation. Maybe Logan, but then he was just as rooted to the ground as the rest of the team after Reese's order.

Compassion was lost on these people, they were so hardened from years and years of war. Perhaps it was the dead who had it better. After all, they were the only ones to truly see the end of this war.

The squad picked their way over the mountain range, moving as carefully as before, but the imminent threat of being exposed slackened and as a result they moved more freely. This was far beyond normal machine patrols, but it was also behind enemy lines and a long way off from any supporting unit.

None of them had any idea when a human unit had ventured over the mountains, their world existed entirely within the Los Angeles basin. Apprehension and curiosity seized them all as they pictured what they'd come upon when they reached Plant 42. It was enough that it was an Air Force base for black projects before J-day, but now it was a main base of operations for Skynet. They had never seen a major Skynet base, only the small ones that dotted the Los Angeles landscape.

After searching out a suitable place to rest and wait for the approaching day to pass, the squad set up a small site in a shallow cave that was at the end of a wash. They used charred brush to cover the entrance; Reese set a two man watch that would rotate every two hours, and the rest of the team attempted to get whatever sleep they could before continuing on to the objective when the night came once more.

Allison wrapped herself tightly in her olive drab, threadbare jacket; nuzzling up to the rocky wall of the cavern they sheltered in. How could she sleep? How were they even safe? Miles away from any help, in the middle of nowhere, and with just a few rifles to defend themselves with.

Across from her, the soldier's not on watch had already drifted into an exhaustion induced coma. Amazing they could do such a thing, but then this must've been a fairly normal thing for them. The day's excitement still seemed to surge through her veins, and sleep would not come with ease. She struggled along the cavern's wall, tossing and turning in an attempt to find some semblance of comfort in the shady hole. All of this was to no avail, however, and she eventually gave up. She rose from her position and quietly made her way out to the cave entrance where the sentries were posted.

It was Kai and Logan, and they both sat as still as a pair boulders, neither of them bothering to speak to each other. Instead, they kept their eyes focused outward; searching for that ever-looming threat that stalked the wastes. Allison figured that the likelihood of being discovered here wasn't very high, but she still respected the fact that security was maintained, and that two veteran soldiers stood sentinel over the slumbering group of ragged troops inside.

She watched Logan closely, he seemed at ease, more so then she had ever seen him. This was his element, it's what he was: a soldier. He calmly slumped against the entrance way, and confidently studied the surroundings outside, noting every sound and assessing them for possible threats. His mind never leaping to foolhardy conclusions, just the patient, experienced assessment of an operator that had seen his fair share of war. She envied him then, envied that feeling of serenity he was experiencing while her heart fluttered faster than she thought possible. Grim thoughts and worry raced through her mind, coupled with images of the slaughter they had witnessed hours ago. These things she could not banish from her thoughts, and so she was stuck attempting to find sleep.

But watching him relaxed her, seeing the way he seemed to nonchalantly stand watch over them all. It was just another day, just another duty, and a look of boredom almost crossed his face, or a sense of yearning for some kind of action. It was that confidence, that absolute trust in his own abilities that calmed her, that allowed her to finally find sleep…


	8. Fear and Loss

Chapter Eight: Fear and Loss

Fear was that sort of feeling that shook you to the bone. It sent tremors through your muscles, elevated your heart rate and increased your pulse exponentially. It caused you to sweat ceaselessly, left your skin cold and clammy, yet your mouth lacked any sort of moisture. Thoughts raced through your mind; left you picturing your own bloody demise, or worse, some injury that would leave you disfigured. Yet it provided motivation, it kept you alive, and it made you operate with pragmatism instead of a hot-headed need to sate some unquenchable thirst for glory, or in the case of Corporal Logan Ramsey, revenge. For a normal person fear kept you alive. As you felt its terrible aura it forced you to act with sense and it counterbalanced the incredible feeling of invincibility that adrenaline imbued you with.

But Logan, while affected by fear, had never acted in a sagely or pragmatic manner. His tempestuous nature had never been blunted by the sharp feeling that fear brought on. Fear only reminded him of the permanent nature of death, because all around him death lingered. The stench of it was constantly in the air and no matter how much life among the living left him with a feeling of dismay or heartache, the thought of dying was still scary; downright terrifying in fact.

Now as days had gone by, fear slowly started to affect him as it had years ago. Long before the decimation of Mustang bunker, the shattering loss of his sister, or even the abrupt death of his father earlier. Fear began to creep back into his life in an unfamiliar form. He feared loss, he feared that should his life come to an end then he wouldn't live to see another cheery smile, or bask in the warming glow of those soft brown eyes. Allison had affected deeply him in that way. So deep in fact, that he had hesitated volunteering for the small role he was now performing alongside Wisher. Over the course of the several days it took to reach Plant 42 he'd seen a great deal of Allison.

He'd seen how the sight of her former home had affected her. He'd heard her attempt to silence her tears in the coldest, darkest hours of the night when she thought everyone else slept. He'd even wanted to comfort her, offer some form of support. But he had nothing to say, nothing to blunt the pain she felt in her heart. He couldn't even silence his own internal suffering, how could he expect to do so for her?

But every morning the squad moved on she was ready, with an impassioned look of determination and a glow that he hadn't seen anyone's eyes for years. It was as if each step they took closer to their objective was a step closer to the finish line. It was as If victory was right around the corner and that paradise could be a reality once they reached the plant. She shrugged off that internal struggle, shouldered it and charged headlong into the tasks at hand. Each day she trudged on, never complaining, never asking for help, and never expecting it. She didn't want any pity, but her actions demanded respect. Her performance was admirable, and it shamed Logan for his own selfish ways.

She exemplified what it meant to be a soldier, and she was just a technician. She was disciplined, tough, and didn't falter. On the opposite side of the spectrum Logan's misbegotten quest for revenge was tenuously restrained through his sheer force of will power. That lust for the destruction of all things mechanical had nearly pressured him to attack two larger forces on separate occasions. It would have spelled doom for the entire squad and Logan had found it hard not to take advantage of the surprise that their stealth afforded them.

But in one particular instance, as the squad hunkered low in a dry creek bed as a patrol of T-600s accompanied by an HK-Tank lumbered by, he wished for nothing more than to leap upon them and destroy as much as he could before he was ripped from life on Earth and sent to whatever afterlife truly existed.

But his wandering eyes led him to Allison Young. Her face showed determination but also great fear, as the sound of those menacing machines of the apocalypse made their way past. He saw dread in her eyes, but confidence on her facade. It was her fear that forced him to abandon hopes of a harrowing death in the midst of mechanical carnage. He hated seeing that look of terror in her eyes. He wished to see it replaced by the warmth and happy optimism he'd seen when they met. So he swallowed his hatred, the patrol passed, and his squad soldiered on.

Now he quietly scratched his way across a filthy field of mud outside a chain link fence that separated him and Wisher from Plant 42. The night sky was thunderous, and a torrent of rain fell upon the duo as they slogged their way through the miserable muck.

As horrible as the rain was it provided cover for their approach. But with its advantages it brought as many discomforts. Their clothes were water logged, their skin wrinkled from hours of moisture, their socks soaked and their boots weighed down with huge clumps of sludge. In addition to that, the mire which they hauled themselves through stunk worse than even the most disgusting of latrines and on more than several occasions the two had to force themselves not to vomit.

As they reached the fence line they clipped two large holes and dragged their tired, saturated bodies through the breach. On the opposite end they began scanning the entirety of the base. It was largely flat, and composed of several cracked asphalt runways. A hundred meters to their direct front, a small cluster of four buildings with a central courtyard rose from the surroundings. Nearby the buildings, to the south were an assortment of hangars, some damaged and others as pristine as the day before J-day. Beyond the hangars were the ruined remains of several buildings similar to the cluster they had first seen. These buildings, however, were completely destroyed, and the area surrounding them was a ruinous site much like central Los Angeles. It might prove to be a decent escape route should things get too hot, as the area provided an ample amount of cover, especially compared to the flat, muddy approach the two had just made.

Before them several long beams of white light searched their way through the rain-swept darkness. Intruders were not expected, but machines were methodical and ferociously defended their prized research sites. As a result, both Logan and Wisher were thankful for the mud they had cursed only moments ago. They slogged their way further into the muck, and pressed themselves as flat as possible.

Utilizing the night-vision capabilities on the optics which were mounted on their plasma rifles they scanned over the area. The silhouettes of several machines could be seen patrolling the area, they were presumably T-600s and were quite clearly heavily armed.

"Bravo-1-Actual, this is 1-Alpha; we've got eyes on the objective buildings. Security doesn't seem as tight as we thought," Wisher keyed into the microphone of his short range radio.

"Copy that, 1-Alpha. What do you see?" Lt. Reese's voice replied, hardly audible over the pounding of the rainfall around them.

"Looks like about a half dozen endos, T-600s. Standard armament from what I can see. It's about a hundred meter approach to the buildings where Klaus said the terminal is located," Wisher relayed the information back to his squad leader. He narrowed his eyes, attempting to see anything he may have missed; some unknown threat that he hadn't thought of, or that the machines may have cleverly hidden. But he could see nothing. He wondered how Hopper and his men had been compromised and how they had been killed. It certainly wasn't before they had accessed the terminal. So then extricating themselves out of the area was clearly the most difficult task to achieve.

It took about thirty minutes for the rest of the squad to make their way to Wisher and Logan's location, and they fanned out in a line, keeping as low a profile as they could. Lt. Reese and Allison arrived nearby Logan and he looked over to see a fatigued and muddy Allison. She looked at him, her face covered in the sludge (though not as entirely as his). She forced a weary smile and even in the darkness her smile seemed to radiate with brightness akin to the search lights that probed the darkness around them. "I don't know how you do it," she muttered.

He didn't reply, only offered her a re-assuring grin then took his attention back to the surrounding area.

The rain continued to pound them as Lt. Reese attempted to think of the best way to proceed. He could probably get a small team into the buildings by simply low-crawling their way the 100 meters to the cluster of buildings. The rain offered great cover for easier movement and there was low visibility because of it, coupled with the lack of illumination due to the absence of moonlight. The problem was obviously getting them back out. He considered splitting his squad into two groups, the second group remaining outside in the muck in order to keep an extraction route open. The best way things could go was for the first team to make it inside, perform the mission, then quietly snake their way back out to their current location, then retreat back the way they came. From there they could vary their route back over the San Gabriel mountain range and out of the Antelope Valley.

Reese, Logan, Allison, Klaus, and Dallas slowly pushed their way further on, crossing the mud ridden tarmac toward the cluster of four buildings. Meanwhile, Kirby, Kai, Wisher, and Jack held their position just beyond the initial breach point. It didn't take the group that long to cross the open ground surprisingly. Within ten minutes they were quietly making their entry into the building that Klaus claimed housed the terminal.

"Why isn't there any security?" Dallas asked bluntly, his large frame creeping along the dirty and disused hallway.

"Maybe they don't think anyone could make it this deep?" Logan asked. His eyes darted around the interior of the building, searching for any possible threat or surprise.

"Quiet," Reese ordered. The group continued to advance cautiously down the hall, Logan in the lead, followed by Reese, Allison, Klaus and then Dallas in the rear. A long hall led down to two sealed doors which Klaus indicated was where the terminal was probably located. Logan wondered how the guy could possibly know where the terminal was, but then maybe Hopper's team was able to relay that information back to Kansas Bunker.

As they entered the room a blast of cold air hit them, clearly some sort of super computer was kept here, as it was necessary to keep them cold in order for them to properly operate. Klaus quickly approached a large mainframe, his eyes wide with amazement.

"Incredible systems here. They just modified an already existing super computer to suit their needs. That's good, though. It should make it easier for me to gain access…" he mumbled. He quickly began to unpack some of his gear, none of which could be identified by the soldiers that were protecting him. Allison helped, but her presence seemed altogether unnecessary as Klaus worked quickly and precisely while Allison mainly watched her mentor.

Dallas and Logan kept their eyes fixed upon the hallway which they had come from. This seemed entirely too easy to Logan, and he didn't understand how the machines didn't have T-600s positioned all over this terminal, especially given the fact that Hopper and his men had just recently breached Skynet's physical defenses.

Several minutes passed, but they were precarious moments where every sound that echoed from the exterior of the building had the team holding their breath, all except for Klaus who was entirely too absorbed by his work to care about the world around him.

"Done," he suddenly said. "Information is downloaded, virus has been inserted, and I re-opened the network so it should spread throughout Skynet's entire system… hopefully," he finished. He hastily packed up his gear with the help of his apprentice.

"Good, let's get the hell out of here," Reese urged. "2-Alpha, this is Actual, be advised; we're going to be coming out so stand-bye to move," Reese told the team waiting outside. So far things were going perfectly.

The group quietly returned down the hall, the order of their formation now reversed. Dallas reached the main entrance they had come through only ten minutes prior and as he swung it open he was horrified to discover the bulky figure of a T-600 standing in his way. It was covered in its rubberized sheath, a sight that could be altogether more frightening then the skeletal look of it's endoskeleton. Its expressionless face presented a grim and disturbing visage that unnerved even Dallas.

The squad quickly halted in place, surprise overtaking them. The machine acted first; it snatched up Dallas by the throat and lifted his heavy frame from the floor. He cried out in pain as it began to squeeze upon his throat. Wide-eyed and motionless Allison looked on with horror as Logan and Reese pushed her aside, slamming her into the wall of the hallway. They aimed in, but Dallas was blocking a clear shot on the machine.

"Damn it," Reese snarled.

Before any option could be considered; the rubberized fist of the T-600 burst through Dallas' back. He howled with pain and began firing wildly with his plasma rifle. Allison was terrified by the bloody act she had just seen, and even Derek and Logan had trouble keeping their composure as their squad mate was spitted by the T-600s powerful arm.

The monstrous machine cast the soldier aside. Dallas' still shivering body crashed into the wall leaving a bloody trail behind it. He writhed around in pain, his muscles and legs twitching and seizing up on him as his spinal cord was severely damaged. Blood gurgled and spewed from his mouth.

Derek and Logan immediately engaged the T-600, quickly joined by Klaus the machine wasn't able to hold up to a barrage of point blank plasma fire. Its rubber skin was scorched and the chip in its skull was boiled away by an abundance of heavy fire. It crumpled to the floor beside the Resistance soldier it had just maimed.

Reese knelt down beside Dallas, who was still alive, but violently flopped around on the floor, leaving a bloody muddle all around his dying body. Derek attempted to gain the large soldier's attention, but he was incoherent. A gaping hole in stomach exposed his intestines and a profusion of blood that flowed freely. There was nothing they could do for him.

"Dallas…" Reese began. Before another word formed on his lips a gunshot rang out. A surprised Lieutenant turned around to see Logan Ramsey holding a Colt .45, the barrel smoking from a recent discharge.

"We have to get out of here," Logan implored his squad leader. He'd shot Dallas, ended his misery, and although the soldier was dead, his legs still shook eerily. Outside they could hear gunfire raging amongst the sounds of thunder.

A burst of rage spiked inside Derek as he looked down at his dead comrade, a man he'd known several years, and a hell of a soldier. He wanted to kill Logan for what he had done, even though he was right. He exhaled deeply. "Let's go," he said gravely. He knelt down and snatched Dallas' dog tags from his bloodied neck.

"Allison, we have to go!" Logan shouted, whirling around to see Allison in complete shock. She had fallen to her knees and now stared with revulsion at Dallas' bloody remains. "Allison!" Logan snapped. He grabbed her by the wrist and hauled her to her feet, ripping her back to reality. She shook her head and looked unbelievingly at Logan.

"We're moving!" Derek shouted. He began his exit from the building.

Outside the team they had left behind immediately began engaging the machines that moved toward the building after hearing the initial gunfire the dying resistance soldier had fired off. Now they were doing all they could to hold back an onslaught as more T-600s began to appear out of the darkness from the north.

The entire squad was able to regroup just outside of the cluster of buildings and they began to fire a barrage to the north in an attempt to suppress or slow the advancing machines.

"We move south for those ruined buildings!" Derek ordered. He hoped they offered some opportunity for escape, or this would be the end of his entire squad. Plasma shots careened past the squad as the Terminators did what they could to acquire their targets, having some difficulty in the poor weather.

The squad began an organized withdrawal. Some soldiers held their ground, firing back at the T-600s, while some ran south, halting only to turn and provide suppression fire for the remaining members of the squad.

This proved effective until an HK-Aerial showed up, firing its heavy plasma cannon down upon the group. Debris and mud were sent high into the air, as the plasma exploded onto the ground launching the muck skyward.

One such explosion caught Klaus in its fiery cloud and knocked him to the ground. Half his face and body was scorched and he grit his teeth from the pain. Allison screamed from the sight and ran to him. "Go," he struggled to say. She lingered still and in that moment he realized he had something important. Through great effort he produced the miniature hard-drive containing the information he'd downloaded. "Take this." He pushed the object into her shivering hands. His right eye was gone; burned into vapor, but with his left he looked at her knowingly, and telling her with his expression it was okay to leave him. Still she remained, despite the withering hail of gunfire around her.

Again she was brought back to the present as Logan grabbed her by her shoulder and violently dragged her away from her mentor, teacher, and friend. Klaus watched with labored breath as the squad retreated into the hazy rain-soaked darkness.

They got nearer and nearer to their destination, and Derek realized that a sloping ridgeline was nearby. Perhaps if they could make it to the ridge they could evade the machines enough given the rough terrain and escape to the mountains further away. He relayed that information to Kirby, who acknowledged him just as they began to enter the ruins of the buildings around them.

The Aerial was still raining heavy plasma shots down upon them, and Jack took the opportunity to kneel, take careful aim and let loose with their only guided rocket. The projectile streaked up into the sky, its contrail leaving a trace of vapor in its wake. It struck the Aerial just behind the nose of the aircraft exploding in a marvelous ball of orange light.

Derek had opted to simply blast away the fence line nearby with his plasma rifle and as the situation grew apparently more desperate the group simply sprinted free from the confines of the fence that protected Plant 42 and its production facilities. Into the dark they ran, as hard and fast as they could. Hearts beating in their ears, mud doing all that it could to force a slower pace. But they didn't even bother to look back; instead they saw the ridgeline and they hoped for rough terrain and safety from the machines that followed them.

The rain had helped them more then they thought that it would. It apparently made it very difficult for the machines to follow their trail, and they noticed quickly that they were no longer under heavy fire. Instead, they seemed to make their way across the open toward the ridge without much trouble. However, this didn't stop them from crossing the ground as hastily as possible.

Allison was still in shock. Her wide, beautiful brown eyes remained locked on the facility even as Logan dragged her away from the place. She had left someone behind there; she had left what remained of her family inside that fence. Abandoned him to a slow and painful death; or possibly even capture. He was still alive; she should have killed him just as Logan had killed Dallas. But she knew she didn't have the capacity for such a thing. She wanted to tear herself away from Logan's strong grip on her and run back to help Klaus, even if that meant killing him. Despite that overwhelming urge within her, her body made no such attempt at that sort of action. She exhaled deeply and she did all that she could to keep her act together. Soon Logan would not have to drag her along, as she reclaimed her composure and followed the squad into the ridgeline… apparently free from the deadly army of monsters that had pursued them and reduced their numbers by two…


End file.
